Hold On
by Artemis024
Summary: Carter's son has just died. Now he is falling. What will happen to our young Dr. Carter?
1. Chapter 1: Vegetable Oil and Flashlights

_This takes place after Carter's son dies. The majority of the italics are characters' thoughts. And I am thinking of putting part of a song at the end of random chapters (also in italics). I am not yet done with it, so there may be large time gaps between my chapters. Let me know what you think! _

**

* * *

Chapter 1: Vegetable Oil and Flashlights**

"Please tell me that it's been a quite day," Susan Lewis said as she wrapped her stethoscope around her neck. It was her first shift back since her maternity leave and all she wanted was an easy day.

"You're in luck." Susan looked at the new Dr. Abigail Lockhart. Ever since she passed her boards there was an air of confidence around her. "It's been pretty slow."

The two women walked around as Abby presented the current patients. "It's mostly been small things. No traumas since I've been on."

"Oh, don't jinx it for me. I'm on for twelve hours." Susan paused and then said, "Wait, no traumas? Is that possible?"

Abby shrugged and continued, "There's a head lac in one. In two there are a couple of kids with food poisoning; it doesn't seem serious though. And this," they stepped into Exam Room Three, "is Mr. Henry." He was a middle aged, balding man, who was sitting in the middle of the hospital bed and twiddling his thumbs.

Susan sniffed the air and asked, "Is someone cooking something?"

"We're waiting for a psych consult," Abby responded.

"What did he do? And what the hell is that smell?" Susan asked, scrunching up her nose.

"Mr. Henry came in complaining of a migraine. He wandered away and we found him by the charts, covered in vegetable oil and trying to set himself on fire with a flashlight. Isn't that right, Mr. Henry?"

"They told me to," the patient replied.

"Oh," Abby continued, "and aliens are controlling his thoughts." She rolled her eyes and they walked out of the room. Abby continued, "And watch out by charts. Housekeeping hasn't cleaned up the oil yet."

The women stopped at curtain area two, and while Susan checked a chart, she asked, "Do you know how Carter's been? I haven't talked to him since before it happened." Ever since Carter and Kem had lost their child, everyone in the ER referred to the event as the understood 'it.'

"You know," Abby replied, "I'm surprised at how well he's been holding up. It's been a few months since the baby died. When it happened I was so scared that he would fall apart, but he didn't. He and Kem," she cringed at that name, "have been keeping each other strong."

Just then they heard a clatter and turned to look. Right past the admit desk, Carter had accidentally knocked over a tray.

"Speak of the Devil," Abby muttered under her breath.

"Hey Carter," Susan called out. Then to Abby she said, "I didn't think he was on with me."

"He isn't supposed to be. Oh, no."

"What?"

"He's coming this way, heading straight for the oil. And I think he's drunk." A sound of disappointment escaped from her mouth.

"Drunk?" Susan looked from Abby to Carter and had just enough time to call out, "Carter, watch out for the oil!"

But Carter didn't hear . . . or didn't stop fast enough. The next thing the women saw was Carter's feet flying above his head and him landing flat on his back in the 'oil spill.' They ran the dozen steps to check on him.

"Carter?" Susan was trying not to laugh but a chuckle found its way out. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He tried to stand but his feel slid out from under him again.

"Okay," Susan said, "Abby let's help him up." They each took a hand and Susan gently stepped on the toes of his shoes to prevent him from slipping again. As he popped up from the floor, the momentum he acquired made him practically fall into Susan.

She turned her head and scrunched up her face as she said, "Yeah, he's drunk. You could light his breath on fire. Abby you're off. I can handle him."

"No, I want to help." Abby replied. Susan distinctly saw a look of worry in her eyes.

"Okay, let's get him to a room before Weaver sees him." With one of Carter's arms wrapped around each of their shoulders, they slowly made there way to the empty Exam Room Two. Along the way Susan asked Haleh to help them and the nurse quickly agreed. Once inside they laid Carter down on the gurney.

"Haleh," Susan asked, "could you start him on the Ross treatment?" Haleh nodded and proceeded to set up.

Abby looked confused and asked, "What's the Ross treatment? I've never heard of that."

Suddenly Carter propped himself up on his elbows and responded, "Also known as the Doug Ross treatment. It was before your time, Abby—."

"I'm older than you, John."

"Your time down here," he corrected as he flopped back down. "Dr. Ross would come in drunk before shifts and we would sober him up."

As Susan checked Carter's pulse she said, "Yeah, well we don't need another Dr. Ross around here. Carter, how much did you have to drink?"

"I don't know. A half bottle maybe."

"A half bottle of what?"

It took Carter a couple of seconds to process each question. "Vodka."

Susan looked at Haleh and said, "Get a blood alcohol level too, please."

Now Abby, who had been in back, stepped forward. "Carter?" He was in his own little world, chuckling at the ceiling. She continued, "John, you know you shouldn't be drinking." She was trying to be gentle. She knew something has happened.

He finally looked at her and said, "Awe, come on Abby. Have a little fun." His words were slurring.

"Ah," she laughed, "I already did. That's why it took this long to finish med school. John, what happened?"

He sighed. The fluids they were giving him were already working. But that question sobered him the rest of the way. "She left me."

He hadn't said it quietly but all three women looked at him and asked, "What?"

Abby turned to Haleh and, in more of a command than a question, said, "Could you give up a minute?"

"Sure," the nurse said and left the room.

With Abby in the bedside chair and Susan sitting on the edge of the bed, Carter repeated, "She left me . . . a few hours ago she moved to a hotel until she can move all her things out. Then she's going back to Africa."

"Did something happen?" Susan asked.

"You could say that. I proposed."

Abby's heart sank at his last two words. It was supposed to be her, not Kem. But it had been her, and she had said no.

Susan was shocked, "You proposed?"

"Yeah. She said no. It's just my luck I guess." He looked at Abby but quickly looked away when their eyes met. Twice rejected for marriage.

"I'm sorry, Carter," Susan said.

"Thanks." He changed the subject. "I need to sleep before my shift." And his eyes were closed.

Once Abby and Susan were outside the room, Susan said, "Can you believe she said no?"

Abby glared at her.

Susan stumbled on her words, "No, no, I mean, it was different for them. They had a child together."

"But they never really had him, did they?"

"Still . . ." They made their way to the lounge.

"Yeah, I know." After getting her purse Abby asked, "Could you do me a favor?"

"Sure, what is it?" Susan asked, already involved in some paperwork.

"Could you get a tox screen for him, too?"

Susan quickly jerked her head up to look at her friend. "You don't think—?"

"I don't know. He's pretty upset. He was upset enough to down half a bottle of vodka."

Susan sighed, "But drinking is different than . . . you know. Plus, he knows better."

"He knew better the first time too." _And it's not that different_, Abby thought.

"Okay," Susan nodded. "I'll do the test."

"Thanks. Call me if it's positive." And Abby ran out the door.

"God, Carter," Susan said aloud to herself. "I hope, for your sake, that you didn't do anything stupid."

* * *

_Alcohol, my permanent accessory  
Alcohol, a party-time necessity  
Alchool, alternative to feeling like yourself  
O Alcohol, I still drink to your health_

_I love you more than I did the week before  
I discovered alcohol_

_I thought that Alcohol was just for those with  
nothing else to do  
I thought that drinking just to get drunk  
was a waste of precious booze  
But now I know that there's a time  
and there's a place where I can choose  
To walk the fine line between  
self-control and self-abuse_

_I love you more than I did the week before  
I discovered alcohol  
Would you please ignore that you  
found me on the floor  
Trying on your camisole?  
O Alcohol, would you please forgive me?  
For while I cannot love myself  
I'll use something else._

_Would you please forgive me  
Would you please forgive me_

lyrics by The Barenaked Ladies

* * *

let me know what you think. DMJ.  



	2. Chapter 2: Scotch and Scripts

**Chapter 2: Scotch and Scripts**

It seemed like that was the longest day Carter had ever lived. But that was probably because of the massive hangover he was working through. And when Weaver first saw him, Carter thought that he was going to be hanged.

"Carter!" she shouted, "What the hell is wrong with you!"

He winced at his headache as she yelled. He said, in almost a whisper, "What do you mean, Kerry?"

"I was told that you came in here drunk."

"In my defense, I wasn't on at the time."

"I don't care, Carter." She pulled him into the empty lounge. "Listen, I am very sorry for the loss of your son . . ."

_She has no idea_, he thought to himself, _Well, at least no one told her about Kem._

Kerry continued, "But you know better than to come here drunk. You're just lucky the tox screen came back negative, or you'd be out of here-."

"Wait. What? They did a tox screen?"

"Are you surprised? You're blood alcohol level was 0.18. You could barely walk. How the hell were we supposed to know what you were on?" Kerry started to open the lounge door to exit, but Carter grabbed her wrist.

He said, "I would never come to work high!" It was a quiet shout, but it came out stronger than he intended.

Both of them thought of the same thing:

_You have before._

_I have before._

So Carter continued, "I've worked too hard to gain back your trust. You do trust me, don't you?" He let got of Kerry's wrist and gave her 'the look.' No woman could resist the Carter look with his deep brown, puppy-dog eyes.

She was taken aback and responded, "Of course I trust you," before she quickly exited the lounge.

That was several hours ago. And now he just finished his shift. He felt like an idiot for coming here drunk. Kerry was right to be angry. He didn't know why, while drunk, he had the great idea to go to County. But he felt the worst about seeing Abby, or actually her seeing him like that. His life may be falling apart but he didn't want her to worry about that. And he knew that she would worry.

He closed his locker and turned to leave. Suddenly pain struck his back.

"Damn it," he said to no one. He must have twisted it funny when he fell in the oil. _I should get that checked out before it gets worse_, he thought to himself. Out of the lounge, he looked for a doctor, but there were none available, well, unless you counted Pratt as a doctor. Carter sure didn't. He was hoping for Susan, Kerry, or even Luka. They all knew about his past and as far as he knew, Pratt had no clue. But as the throbbing pain increased, Carter knew that he needed Pratt's help.

Carter walked over to the board, where the young doctor was standing, and asked, "Greg, could you do me a favor and take a look at my back?"

"Sure, what's the problem?"

"I fell earlier today-."

"I heard." Pratt had that smug smirk on his face.

"Right," Carter was getting pissed, "and I think I hurt an old injury."

The two men were walking to Exam Room One as Pratt joked, "An old football injury, huh?"

"You could say that," Carter quietly responded. _He's going to know soon enough, isn't he?_

Once inside the room, Pratt closed the door and said to Carter, "Okay, take off your shirt."

"Can you close the blinds?"

"It's just your shirt-."

"Please." Pratt didn't understand why the older doctor was so concerned. But there Carter stood with his arms crossed across this chest and looking lost.

"Fine." Pratt closed all the blinds. Once that was finished Carter, hesitantly, unbuttoned and removed his shirt. And suddenly Pratt understood. Down the front of Carter's abdomen was a long scar, pale so obviously it was old. But still Carter crossed his arms, trying to hide the mark. Pratt was not ready for what he saw once Carter turned around. Scars, more scars. But these were different. They were not like the surgical scar from the front. This was angry damage which Pratt knew told a sad story. All the while Carter could not lift his gaze from the floor, as if he was embarrassed.

"Damn Carter, what happened to you?" Pratt couldn't help but run a finger along one. This touch made Carter flinch and step forward, away from Pratt.

_I should get someone else_, Carter thought. But to Pratt he said, "Just . . . start the exam, please."

While Pratt checked the alignment and muscles, he said, "It's just . . . it looks like someone hacked at you with a butcher's knife."

Before Carter could think, he heard himself say, "He did." And he felt Pratt's hands stop dead.

"What? Who did this? When?" he bombarded Carter with questions.

Carter, beginning to put his shirt back on, asked, "Is my back okay?" He winced as he turned to face the young doctor.

"I don't know. Is it?"

Carter clenched his jaw in frustration and, between his teeth, he asked, "Are there any new problems?"

"Nothing serious. There may be a pulled muscle at most."

"Thank you for your help." Carter may not like this kid, but he still had to show good manners.

As Carter opened the door Pratt again asked, "When did it happen? Why didn't you tell me about this?"

Without turning, Carter responded, "There's a lot about me you don't know, and you don't need to know. Mind your own damn business."

Pratt watched as the attending stormed away and noticed a limp forming in Carter's stride.

Once in the ambulance bay, Carter stopped and ran a hand through his hair. He felt shaken from the exam. Carter didn't like having people know about his past. He didn't even like remembering. And after today he could add another notch to his bedpost of anguish.

"Carter! Carter!" he heard someone shout from behind him. _I never started walking again_, he realized.

Turning around, Carter saw Pratt jogging toward him.

"Just great," Carter mumbled. "What is it, Greg?"

"You looked like you were in some pain so I wrote you this script." He held out the paper.

"No thanks."

"Come on, it'll help you with the pain. You know, take the edge off. Even Superman needs help sometimes."

Carter hesitated but took the script and looked at it.

"Don't worry," Pratt continued, "It's nothing strong, just some Vicodin. No harm in taking it and getting some help."

"Yeah," Carter agreed, "Thanks."

"No problem. Have a good night," and with that Pratt ran back inside.

As Carter walked to the el his thoughts were torn. Was he wrong to take the script? He doesn't need to actually get the drug just because he can. And if he hadn't taken the script it would have been another thing Pratt would have wanted explained. No, he did the right thing.

_Will things ever go back to normal? _Carter asked himself. _But what is normal for me? I jumped from girlfriend to girlfriend, never finding the one I loved. No, I always loved them. But they never loved me back._

He reached the new house and stood in the foyer. _It's too quiet . . . because it's empty. I can't stay here._ And he ran out of the house.

He reached the mansion a half hour later and for the past hour he had been staring at the script. Just as he poured himself a scotch the doorbell rang. He shoved the paper into his pocket and, with scotch in hand, answered the door.

"Abby," he was shocked to see her and his voice gave that away.

"Hi John. I didn't expect you to be home."

"Then why bother coming?" he asked.

But she must not have heard. She just stared at the glass in his hand. "Starting again I see."

He stepped aside without replying and she entered. The sat down in the family room and sat in awkward silence. Carter took a sip of scotch and then remembered his manners. "I'm sorry," he said, "would you like something to drink?"

"John-."

"No, I mean water or pop or something?"

"No thank you. I can't stay long." They locked eyes but after a minute both looked away. She knew she could get lost in his eyes forever. And he knew he could fall in love all over again.

Abby broke the tension by standing and looking around the room. "I've missed this old house."

"I've missed you being here," he replied

She laughed a nervous laugh and said, "Just how many of those have you had?"

"This is my first. My words are from the heart not the scotch."

"Which brings me to why I'm here." She sat back down and stared at her hands.

"You mean it's not to be with me?"

She didn't know how to answer that so instead she looked at him and said, "I'm worried about you. I'm worried _for_ you."

Carter didn't answer but instead he downed the scotched and then downed another. "You have nothing to worry about."

As he poured his third, Abby said, "This is what I'm worried about. This kind of behavior. With your past you shouldn't drink."

"No!" he shouted. He stood and took a couple steps back, always watching her. "With _your _past _you_ shouldn't drink!" It felt as if the script was burning a hole through his pocket. He needed to get her out before she found out about it. He grabbed her wrist and started pulling her toward the door.

"Carter!" she yelled, "John! Let me go! You're hurting me! I'm trying to help!"

He threw down her wrist once they reached the foyer and he yelled at her, "Help? How the hell do you think you're helping me!"

"I just . . . I wanted to know if you were okay after what happened today." Abby was trying her best to stay calm and trying even harder not to cry.

"Oh," Carter responded calmly, "Well that explains it all. You wanted to see if I'm okay. And of course you wanted to catch me shooting up."

This shocked Abby. _Is he confessing?_ She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted.

Carter shot out, "And you gave me a tox screen! I can't believe that you don't trust me!" _As the script burns in my pocket._

"What do you expect!" Now it's Abby's turn to yell. "You were so drunk today you couldn't stand! How the hell did I know if you had or hadn't taken anything?"

"Because I have been clean for four years!"

"Yeah, well, I was sober for six." She watched as he took the last gulp of his scotch he was holding. She continued, "I can't talk to you when you're in this state. Call me when you're sober."

She started opening the door but was stopped by Carter's next remark as he walked back in the family room.

"Go ahead and run away; that's what you're good at."

Abby slammed the door and followed him to the family room, shouting, "_I'm _good at running? _I _run away!" As he drank his fresh scotch she continued, "Let me refresh your memory." Carter reached out for the bottle for more but Abby snatched it, holding it away. "Your grandma died, our relationship went to shit, so you decided to go to Africa! You! _You're_ the one who ran John, not me. I stayed here only to find out you knocked up some African whore! If you hadn't run you wouldn't be here, drinking your problems away!"

"No! I'd be miserable in a relationship with you! An African whore! Well if she's a whore then I loved that whore more than I could ever love a bitter bitch like _you_!"

This stunned Abby but she couldn't think now. Carter was still yelling at her.

"Kem was the best thing that ever happened to me. She's the mother of my son! How dare you call her a whore!" He grabbed the bottle of scotch from Abby and slammed it down on the table. "Get out of my house."

"John, I'm sorry-." She put a hand on his shoulder.

"Get the fuck out!" He shoved her back, knocking her to the floor. She scrambled up and ran for the door. He thought to himself _What have I done?_ And followed her calling, "Abby! Abby, I didn't mean to-." But she was already gone.

* * *

_Here is a story about a sinner,  
He used to be a winner who enjoyed a life of prominence and position,  
But the pressures at the office and his socialite engagements,  
And his selfish wife's fanatical ambition,  
It turned him to the booze,  
And he got mixed up with a floosie  
And she led him to a life of indecision.  
The floosie made him spend his dole  
She left him lying on Skid Row  
A drunken lag in some Salvation Army Mission.  
It's such a shame._

Oh demon alcohol,  
Sad memories I cannot recall,  
Who thought I would say,  
Damn it all and blow it all,  
Oh demon alcohol,  
Memories I cannot recall,  
Who thought I would fall a slave to demon alcohol.

Barley wine pink gin,  
He'll drink anything,  
Port, pernod or tequila,  
Rum, scotch, vodka on the rocks,  
As long as all his troubles disappeared.  
But he messed up his life and he beat up his wife,  
And the floosie's gone and found another sucker  
She's gonna turn him on to drink  
She's gonna lead him to the brink  
And when his money's gone,  
She'll leave him in the gutter,  
It's such a shame.

Oh demon alcohol,  
Sad memories I cannot recall,  
Who thought I would fall,  
A slave to demon alcohol.

* * *

  
I hope you like it. More to come. Reviews are welcome. DMJ  



	3. Chapter 3: Storytime

**Chapter 3: Storytime**

Four days later

"Where the hell is Carter!" came the screech of Weaver. "He's late again!"

Abby looked up from the admit desk and saw that Weaver was staring at her. "I don't know," Abby said, "It's not my job to keep track of him."

The boss lowered her voice and straight to Abby said, "Maybe you could keep an eye on him. He's been acting erratic." And still quieter, "We don't want it to happen again."

"Don't worry," Abby responded, smiling, "It won't."

Kerry smiled back. "Thanks," she said and hobbled away.

But unfortunately the women hadn't been quiet enough. Abby pivoted and almost ran right into Morris and Pratt.

And Morris just had to stick his nose into the conversation. "So, what don't you want to happen again?"

"Well, I don't want you to ask me that again," she sarcastically remarked.

But Morris was persistent. "What? Does he have an anger problem? I could see him beating someone," he snickered.

Abby became defensive. "Carter's life is his business. Don't you have some patients to take care of?"

Pratt stepped forward. "You have to admit that he hasn't been acting like himself."

"He's been through a lot recently."

"Well, there he is again." Pratt nodded towards the door. "And it looks like he's been through another hellstorm."

Abby looked in that direction to find that Pratt was not lying . . . not even exaggerating. It looked as though Carter had been dragged to hell and back. He had stubble on his face, deep circles under his eyes and his body looked drained, not only of energy but also of mass. Abby had suspected that Carter had been losing weight, but since he was naturally thin, it had been hard to tell. Now, however, it looked as though his clothes were hanging off of him. _Probably drinking his dinners_, she thought to herself. _Wait, he's coming towards me_. She hadn't seen him since that night at his mansion when she ran out. And she wasn't quite ready to face him again. She tried to make herself look busy but it was too late. He was already at the desk.

"Abby," his voice was quiet and scratchy, "could I speak with you for a minute?"

"Uh, yeah." She put down her chart and they walked into the empty lounge.

"Listen," Carter started as he poured himself a cup of coffee, "I'm really sorry about the other day." He saw that she was staring at the floor and hugging herself. _ She's still afraid of me_. He reached out and gently touched her shoulder. She flinched and took a step back, the same way he had with her at his house.

"Don't worry about it Carter. You're having a rough time. I understand."

She turned and started towards the door but stopped when Carter said, "I'm sorry I scared you, but you know I'd never hurt you, right?"

She turned to face him but found herself once again staring at the floor and hugging herself. "All I could think about was when my neighbor, Brian, attacked me."

"I didn't attack you-."

Her eyes shot up, "Well that's sure as hell what it felt like." And she stormed out of the lounge and into the washroom. She needed to be alone for a few minutes. Finally, she pulled herself together, wiped some stray tears from her eyes and walked out of the washroom.

As she made her way back to the desk to retrieve her chart, she overheard Pratt say to Morris, "Did you know that Carter was mugged a while ago?"

"Who'd you hear that from? The nurses? 'Cause you can't trust a word they say."

"No man, he told me."

"Well, if he said it . . . Can't say I'm surprised with that fat wallet."

Abby interjected, "Carter was never mugged."

"Maybe he just never told you about it," Pratt said, "Listen, I got it from the source-."

"He told _you_ that he was mugged?"

"Well, he didn't really tell me. But I saw the scars on his back."

Abby's heart stopped.

"Pratt," she said, "Those aren't from being mugged."

Morris was interested now. "What are they from then?"

Abby was about to tell them but then stopped. It was none of their business. So instead of giving details she said, "He's been through more than anyone should have to go through . . . more than anyone at this hospital."

"More than Romano?" Morris asked.

"Definitely-."

"I find that hard to believe. I mean Romano had his arm chopped off and then he was crushed-."

"I know what Romano went through. Carter's been through more. Trust me." That seemed to shut them up. Abby tried to focus on her charts again, but she was interrupted by Pratt.

"So what _did_ happen to him?"

Without looking up, Abby responded, "None of your damn business."

"Okay, then I guess we'll just have to ask Carter."

This got her attention and she accidentally dropped the chart she had been holding. "Fine!" she said, a little too loud, as she picked up the chart. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she mumbled to herself. "You guys better drop this whole thing after I tell you." She looked around and continued, "Let's go to the lounge." Luckily it was empty. "Okay, I'm going to make this quick, but you have to promise me not to mention this to anyone, especially Carter."

Both Morris and Pratt were waiting, wide eyed, for storytime. "Yeah, yeah, we promise," Pratt said with Morris nodding in agreement.

"Okay," Abby really didn't want to tell these idiots about this, but she also didn't want them to go to Carter. With all that he's gone through recently, he didn't need to be reminded of the accident. "Four years ago, on Valentine's Day, Carter's med student, Lucy Knight, was treating a patient named Paul Sobricki. Sometime during the ER Valentine's Day party he attacked them in Exam Room 3. It turned out Sobricki was schizophrenic but no one found out in time and so Lucy and Carter were stabbed repeatedly with an eight inch butcher's knife-."

"I remember seeing this on the news!" Morris realized. "And the chick died-."

"Her name was Lucy," Abby continued, "And yes she died. The entire hospital staff worked on both Lucy and Carter. But Lucy's injuries were too severe. She couldn't be saved. And they had to crack Carter's chest. He was lucky. He_ is _lucky to be alive. And for four years, all of us who were here then have been trying to forget that awful day . . . especially Carter."

With a disappointed face Morris said, "That's it?"

Abby was confused, "What do you mean 'that's it'?"

"It wasn't much of a story." He walked toward the door.

"He almost died that day!" she shouted after him, "And it still haunts him!"

"Yeah, right," and he walked out of the lounge.

Abby muttered to herself, "Shit," but was consoled when Pratt remarked, "Don't worry; I don't think even Morris is stupid enough to mention it to Dr. Carter."

"I hope you're right."

_

* * *

_

_I will forgive but I won't forget  
And I hope you know you've lost my respect_

_You better watch out  
If you don't know whats going on around you  
You better think twice  
Before you fly off the handle and lose it  
You better join us  
Before you get lost in the shuffle  
You better rise against  
The demons that are gonna try and hold you down _

_Does it run in your blood to betray the ones you love?  
Does it run in your blood to betray the ones you love?  
Does it run in your blood to betray the ones you love?  
Does it run in your blood to betray the ones you love?  
The ones you love, the ones you love, the ones you love_

_Cause I'm not a pawn for you to play in your fucking game  
I've got dignity and a dream that I want to achieve  
The pressure, your troubled and you let me down  
I'm not deaf and all I hear is your empty promises_

_Does it run in your blood to betray the ones you love?  
Does it run in your blood to betray the ones you love?  
The ones you love, the ones you love, the ones you love_

_Does it run in your blood to betray the ones you love?  
Yes it runs in your blood to betray the ones you love!  
Yes it runs in your blood to betray the ones you love!  
Yes it runs in your blood to betray the ones you love!_

_I will forgive but I won't forget  
And I hope you know you've lost my respect_

_Yes it runs in your blood to betray the ones you love  
Yes it runs in your blood to betray the ones you love_

Song: _Blood_ Papa Roach

* * *

Please Review! DMJ 


	4. Chapter 4: Loose Lips Sink Ships

_wow, it's been a while since I last updated. Sorry about that guys! I hope you like this one; savor it cuz there won't be more for a while. DMJ_**  
**

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 4: Loose Lips Sink Ships**

Unfortunately Pratt was wrong. Not even twenty minutes had passed before Morris found Carter and said, "So I heard you were chopped up by a schizo."

Before Morris had barged in, Carter had been enjoying the quiet suture room as he worked on an unconscious patient's head lac. Morris was known to say stupid things, but still Carter could not believe what he had just heard.

"What did you say?" he asked baffled. He heard his voice crack with sadness.

"You know, the attack four years ago. Abby didn't give many details-."

"Abby told you about it!"

His mind was racing and he barely heard Morris ask, "Hey what did the knife feel like jabbing into you?"

He was on his way out when the question registered. Carter responded, "You are unbelievable, you frickin' weasel." And he began his quest to hunt down Abby. After looking in every room she was assigned to, Carter's rage was increasing. Where the hell was she? Finally he found her talking to Chuny in the drug lockup.

He tried to stay calm, although he felt like steam was shooting out of him ears. "Abby, can I speak with you?"

"Yeah, but can it wait like ten minutes?" She was looking for something on the top shelf.

"No. Now," he sternly demanded.

Abby and Chuny exchanged glances before Abby said to her, "Keep and eye on Mrs. Williams until I get back, please." She followed Carter, who marched quickly into the lounge. He didn't seem to notice Luka reading on the sofa, but Abby saw him there.

Before Carter said a word, Abby said, "I know what this is about but I was only trying to help-."

"I don't need you to help me anymore Abby! You want to know what Morris just asked me? He asked what it felt like when the knife jabbed into my back!"

"They were about to ask you about the scars-."

"Wait, what? They who?" The rage subsided.

"Morris and Pratt. Pratt told Morris about the scars he saw and he figured you were mugged. They were about to ask you about it so I told them instead because I didn't want you to have to remember."

"Did you tell them about the drugs?" He needed to know.

But Abby hadn't heard. "I just wanted to protect you."

"_Did you tell them about the drugs!_" he shouted just loud enough to scare her, and make Luka jump, but not loud enough to pass the lounge.

_Please let her say no_, Carter thought.

"No," she responded, "Why would I?"

"Why tell them anything at all?"

"I told you already. So they wouldn't ask."

"Mind your own damn business from now on Abby." He glared at her with cold eyes.

"You're not the same anymore, Carter. Get some help," and she left the lounge.

"She's right," Luka said, startling Carter. _How long has he been there?_

Luka continued, "You're not the same."

"Yeah, well, people change," was Carter's response. He sat down next to Luka.

"I think there's more to it than that."

"Listen, I don't need _you _lecturing me now."

"Have you been getting enough rest?"

This question threw Carter, "What? Yeah, I guess."

"When are you off?"

"Um, six. Why?"

"We should get a drink later and talk."

"No thanks. I'm not much of a drinker."

"That's not what I've heard."

Carter looked at Luka and said, "That was only one time." Hopefully Abby hadn't told him about the night at the mansion. "I don't know what Abby's told you-."

"Carter, we're just worried about you-."

"Don't worry. There's nothing to worry about. I'm fine."

"You've said that before. If it happens again, your career is gone-."

"I don't have time for this." And Carter got up and left Luka alone.

Things seemed to calm down as the day went on. At one point, a few hours later, Carter pulled Abby aside to apologize for his behavior and assure her he was fine. "I understand why you're worried, but you really don't have to be. I'm finally sorting everything out."

"Okay," she replied, "but you know I'm here if you ever need to talk."

"Yeah, thanks," and they both went back to their patients.

But then something ruined the peaceful afternoon. While Abby was working up some more charts at the admit desk, Pratt came up nest to her and said, "Can I ask you one more question about Carter?"

"You can ask, but I might not answer."

"What don't you and Weaver want to happen again?"

Abby looked up from her charts and, playing dumb, said, "Huh?"

"You know what I'm talking about. What did Carter do before?"

Abby sighed and said, "No. Last time I told you guys anything, Morris told Carter and his head nearly exploded."

"I know and Morris had no right to say what he did. After what you said happened, I understood why Carter acted the way he did during my exam on him. But I really want to help you guys and Carter if I can."

For some reason Abby felt she could trust Pratt. Plus, he'd be one more pair of eyes watching Carter.

She looked around to see who was in the area. There was no one she had to worry about. Abby sighed and started her story. "After Lucy died Carter was in a lot of pain and needed a lot of physical therapy. His back has never been the same. Anyway, Carter blamed himself for what happened to them . . . for Lucy's death."

"Why?"

Abby kept one eye watching for Carter to appear as she explained, "He thought, probably still thinks, that if he had been helping Lucy more, something might have been different. The therapy wasn't helping him. The physical pain was horrible but the emotional pain was unbearable. He had been taking pain meds for his back, but continued to take them to help him forget. And as a result he got addicted. I caught him injecting fentanyl into his wrist. He went to rehab, got clean, and came back. He's been clean for four years."

Pratt's mind was racing. _That's why he didn't want the script at first. He was afraid he'd get caught._ All he could say to Abby was, "He's been through more than I thought," and thought to himself, _Shit, shit, shit. Carter's a drug addict and I gave him drugs!_

"Yeah," Abby continued, "and because of what just happened with his family and how he's been acting we're all on high alert. This is how he acted last time."

"But Carter just doesn't seem like the type of person that this would happen to."

"We thought that too. I was a new med student when I found him. Trust me, nobody wanted to believe it; and when they gave him an intervention he quit and ran out. But his former teacher, Peter Benton, went after him. Doing that probably saved his life."

They were silent for a couple minutes. Then Pratt decided he had to tell her. "I have a confession. I wish it wasn't true but-."

"Goodnight guys," Carter. He came out of nowhere. Pratt didn't know if this would make things better or worse, but he had to do it.

As Carter walked past them Pratt asked, "Hey Carter, how'd the script work out?"

Carter, of course, knew exactly what he was talking about but sill he played dumb. "Which patient?"

In a quiet accusing voice Pratt continued, "For you. Remember the Vicodin for your back?"

Carter was speechless. His eyes went from Abby to Pratt back to Abby. And then he fled. Without saying a word Carter walked out the ambulance bay doors. Behind him he heard Abby shouting, "Carter get your ass back in here!"

And then he saw Weaver. She must have been just starting her shift. He looked back and saw Abby and Pratt coming up behind him.

_I'm trapped._

_

* * *

_

_I can't remember_

_The last time you cared about anything_

_The last time you allowed yourself to be seen_

_so pretentious your lies unrelenting disguise_

_Creating tears in your eyes your mind withers and dies_

_pretending to be something you are not_

_somewhere in the middle you are now caught_

_You've never seen who you really are_

_No life breathes in you_

_All the time you laugh you wait you cry_

_No part of your life is true_

_All the time your life passes you by_

_I don't ever want to see I don't ever want to be like you, Hollow Man_

_I don't care what you give_

_Hollow man you can't live like this_

_Your voice is just a whisper_

_You call upon your blank thoughts as you try_

_To fit in where you missed her_

_You missed the chance to stop living a lie_

Hollow Man lyrics by Trapt


	5. Chapter 5: Deja Vu

_ I'm back baby! Although the story still isn't finished, I do have a few more chapters ready. I'll keep 'em coming!_

**

* * *

Chapter 5: Deja Vu  
**

If Carter continued out he knew that Abby would tell Weaver what was going on, or what she thought was going on. Carter hadn't done anything wrong. He was still convinced that. There was no way he could get away without explaining to someone.

"Hey Carter? You okay?" Weaver said.

_Damn_, Carter thought,_ I never started walking. I have to stop doing that._ "Yeah, I just . . . forgot something." And he started back the other way, into the ER. He walked right past Pratt and Abby, not even looking at them. He needed to hide.

Behind him he heard Weaver ask the duo of doctors, "Is he okay?"

"I don't know," Abby responded.

But that was all Carter heard between the outdoor doctors. He was racing into the ER and he needed to find some way to get everything straightened out.

"Hey," Jerry at the desk said as Carter rushed past, "where's the fire?"

"What room's free?"

"Uh, 3."

Carter ran in there and laid down on the gurney. _What do I do now?_

As soon as Carter was through the ambulance bay doors Abby went in after him. She spun around but he was no where in sight. "Jerry, where's Carter?"

"Exam Room 3 I think-."

"Thanks." She and Pratt stormed over to the room and barged in. Inside Carter was now off of the gurney and was pacing around the room with his hands in his hair.

Abby couldn't contain herself and shouted, "I want to know what the hell is going on. Now!"

Carter stopped pacing and just sat back down on the gurney. He couldn't find the words to speak.

And even though Carter seemed to be in shock, Pratt still yelled at him, "You let me give you those drugs!"

"No," Carter said in barely a whisper, "that's not what happened. No matter what I tell you it will sound bad-."

Abby said, "Then why don't you just tell us. How long have you been using again?"

"I haven't been, I swear-."

"Don't lie to us, Carter. I obviously know about the script Pratt wrote for your back."

"Honestly, I haven't taken any." He reached into this pants pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. "Here. See, I never even got it filled."

Abby softened her voice as she took the script, "Okay, John. Then what _is _going on? Why did you take it from Pratt?"

Carter looked up at them. Abby seemed to have a sympathetic look in her eyes, but Pratt just looked pissed. "I . . . I didn't want to have to explain why I didn't want the script. I thought that I could just take it and not make a big deal about it." His voice got quieter as he repeated, "I didn't want to have to explain," almost as if he was convincing himself that it was right. Then in a louder voice he said, "I'm sorry. Really. After what happened the other day . . ." He drifted off and stared at the floor.

"Okay," Abby said to Carter, rubbing his arm. Then to Pratt she said, "Let's talk outside." Once outside of the room she continued, "I think this was all harmless-."

"Wait a second," Pratt interjected, "A few minutes ago you said you were 'on high alert'. If you really are worried about him, we should tell Weaver that he has relapsed."

"He said he hasn't taken anything, and he didn't fill your script. I trust him."

"How can you trust him?" Pratt hissed at her. "You can never trust an addict."

"Maybe I shouldn't have told you about his past. Carter's different. He wouldn't lie to me about this-."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I was his first sponsor!"

That made Pratt stop. "Wait, if you were his sponsor doesn't that mean you are . . . Oh Jeeze you're an addict too."

"Well, not exactly." Abby didn't want to explain her complicated life too, but she knew she would have to. "I'm a recovering alcoholic."

Pratt mumbled, "The blind leading the blind. I don't want to be a part of this anymore. Give me the script." He took it from her hand and tore it up. "There. Now it's as if I never had a part in this. You two can exist in your own little chemical world."

He started to walk away and Abby asked, "You won't tell anyone about what Carter did will you?"

"I told you I'm not a part of this anymore, so no. But if I find out he is on something, I will tell her." And he walked away.

Abby sighed and pushed open the door to where Carter was. He was still sitting on the gurney and looked just as guilty as when they first discovered him.

She said to Carter, "He's not going to say anything to anyone. You are getting off easy this time." Carter did not respond so Abby continued, "Are you still in touch with your sponsor?"

"I'm fine. I didn't take anything." Carter looked like he was on the verge of tears.

Abby sat down next to Carter on the bed. "I know. I trust you. But maybe you should call someone. Or, when I get off work we can go to a meeting."

"No. I'm okay. Really."

Abby rubbed her eyes and stood up to leave. But she knew something was still wrong with this situation. Then she realized what it was. "If you were never planning on filling the script, why were you carrying it around at work? You knew what would happen if you got caught with it."

"I . . . I don't know what I was thinking. I guess I wasn't. But it turned out fine. If I hadn't had it on me, you wouldn't have believed me."

"I would have trusted you." She sat back down. "You were going to get it filled, weren't you?"

Carter couldn't look her in the eyes as he responded, "Yeah." And then looking up he said, "But I didn't. And that's what counts doesn't it?"

"No, John. Why were you going to let this happen again? You know it could end your career." She didn't want to be angry at him but for some reason she was. Maybe it was because she saw herself in him.

"I know. I know. But I didn't let it happen. I had it in my pocket all day. It was like a test for myself. And although I had the opportunity to get the drugs I chose not to take it. I beat it Abby." And then quieter, as if to himself, he repeated, "I beat it."

"Okay." Abby knew she should tell someone about this, but it felt as if that would be betrayal. She still trusted him somehow. She took his hand and he stood up. And suddenly he embraced her. A flood of emotion cascaded over her.

"Carter, if you need anything just call me, anytime at all." Neither one could let go until Abby heard Carter speak.

"Thank you. I love you Abby."

She gently let go of him. "Carter . . ."

"No, no. I don't want to make things uncomfortable with us again, Abby. I just meant-."

"I understand, John." She smiled at him and continued, "I should get back to work."

"Right." And he watched her walk out of the room.

* * *

_Why do I do, just as you say  
Why must I just, give you your way  
Why do I sigh, why don't I try to forget . . . _

Song excerpt: _It Had To Be You _ Rod Stewart

* * *

I know what you are thinking, that's a strange song for this fiction. But I like those lyrics for this. Please review! DMJ 


	6. Chapter 6: Bar Flies and Charcoal

**Chapter 6: Bar Flies and Charcoal**

It took Abby a good amount of time to find the place. She knocked on the door and waited for several minutes. She had told herself before coming over that she would be in and out to avoid any problems. But when she finally decided no one was going to answer, she started walking to the El. _Oh well, it was worth a try_.

Abby had always enjoyed looking into storefronts as she walked by, but during this walk she had to do a double take. She was standing in front of a bar, staring in at the counter. Abby slowly walked in and made her way to the bar. She sat down on a stool and asked for a water.

Turning to the man next to her she asked, "So, Carter, what are you doing here?"

He took a sip of what appeared to be whiskey and responded, "Isn't it obvious?"

There was an awkward silence between them. Abby wanted to get him to talk but struggled to start the conversation.

"So," she said, "I went to the mansion and your new house looking for you. I wasn't expecting to find you here."

"Was it that you weren't expecting me or you were hoping that you wouldn't find me?"

"I think you know the answer to that." And there was another awkward silence.

Carter finally continued the conversation. "I can't decide in which home I feel less comfortable, so I come here."

Abby, who had been staring at her water since Carter first spoke, looked up at him. He definitely was drunk, but he could have been worse, a lot worse.

"So," Abby said, "What have you been drinking?" She wanted to keep the conversation light right now, mainly because she wanted him to keep talking.

"Uh, I started with a couple of Becks and since then it's been Jack and coke. You want some?" He held up the drink for her. _Oh, yeah, he's drunk_.

"Carter, you know I can't drink that." She took the drink from him and set it back on the counter so he wouldn't spill it on her. She continued, "How many Jack and cokes have you had?"

"I don't know," Carter slurred, "I think this is number six."

Abby looked up at the bartender and saw him nodding in agreement. _Well, at least someone's been watching him_.

Carter interrupted her thoughts, asking, "Why do you have to be so controlling, Abby?"

From this point on the conversation probably wouldn't be light. It was time to get Carter out of the bar.

"Come on, Carter," she said, "Let's go. Time to go home. You have work tomorrow."

"I'm not done here yet," he complained. This was the last thing Abby needed: Drunk Carter acting like a child.

"I need to talk to you. And it's a long walk back to your place."

"Fine." He gulped down the rest of his drink and almost fell off the stool as he stood up. Abby helped him maneuver out of the bar and back onto the path to his house.

After a few minutes of walking and steering Carter along the sidewalk, Abby decided that it was too quiet and spoke.

"So, I came out here to apologize for today."

"What do you have to apologize for?"

"Well, there's telling Morris and Pratt about . . . . you know, the accident. And telling Pratt about the drugs. But mostly for not trusting you."

"Look at me Abby. There's no reason for you to trust me. I'd rather have you be overly careful than not there for me. Thank you."

"Well, you're welcome, Carter." Abby took a deep breath and sighed. "Are you going to be alright tonight?"

"Yeah, at least I think so."

Abby was still worried. Carter's speech was very slurred and he was still swaying as he stood. "Because I can stay the night if you want me to. I have to work the same time as you tomorrow—"

"Abby, you don't have to. I will be fine now that I am home. But thanks again. I needed to get out of that bar tonight. Okay, I am going to bed." Carter turned and started walking up the steps to his house before Abby could say another word.

As the door closed, Abby quietly said, "Goodnight." It was out of her hands. She'd call him in a few hours to wake him up for his shift. And with that she turned and walked away.

But the night didn't end for Carter. Once inside his house, he pulled out a bottle of vodka and continued drinking. He sat alone in his house, curled up in the nursery corner, clutching the bottle and crying. Nothing seemed right and nothing seemed to help him.

By 2am the bottle was about halfway gone. Carter tried to stand up, knowing that he had to go to bed, but he could barely hold his head up anymore. Something was wrong. He had been drunk many times before, but he never felt like this before. He didn't know what to do at first, so his intoxicated mind told him to drink again. A quarter of the bottle was remaining before Carter's clumsy hands spilled the rest. Finally he got on his knees and crawled to the phone.

It took him a few attempts before he finally dialed the desired number correctly. He lay on the floor as he waited for the phone to be answered.

"Hello?" said the sleepy voice.

"Abby? Abby I need help." Carter could barely speak anymore. His voice was so slurred that it was hardly recognizable.

"Who is this? Carter? What's wrong?" She sprung up in bed, confused with what was going on.

"I had too much. I need help."

"You had more? How much did you have? Was it just alcohol?" She bombarded him with questions but it was useless. Carter had passed out on the floor. "Carter? Carter, are you there?" When she got no response, Abby hung up the phone and hurried to get to Carter's home.

Luckily now that she knew just where he lived, it took almost no time to get to the house. She ran in, not even bothering with knocking, and found Carter in the kitchen with the phone still in his hand.

"John, John, wake up." She gently slapped his face a couple of times but got no response. His breathing was slow and his skin was clammy. Abby knew what this meant. She quickly took the phone and dialed 911.

"I have a 34 year old male with alcohol poisoning. He has lost consciousness and has shallow breath sounds." She gave the address and within minutes the ambulance was taking them to the hospital. At first the paramedics didn't want to take Abby in the ambulance with them. Finally they arrived at County together.

Shock spread over the faces of everyone working the night shift. Luka ran up next to the gurney and directed it where to go.

"What did he take?" he asked Abby.

"I don't know." Abby was crying now. All she wanted to do was help.

Morris and the nurses had already started working on Carter, while Luka took Abby out into the hall.

"Abby, we need to know what he took."

"I don't know. I just don't know."

"Are you sober? How much have you had tonight?"

"I haven't had anything Luka. I found Carter at a bar, I took him to his house, and then I went home. I just got a call. I don't know if he took anything." Abby shuddered a moment. "He was fine when he went into his house. I mean, he was drunk, but not very. He was just going to go to bed. I should have stayed with him."

She was rambling and shaken up pretty badly. Luka instructed her to go into the doctors' lounge. "There is nothing for you to do right now, but I need to get back in there and help Carter. I'll find you in the lounge when I have some news, okay?" Abby made no response so Luka bent down to be at her eye level and repeated, "Abby, can you do that for me? I'll come find you as soon as I can."

Abby silently nodded and retreated to the lounge.

Chuny ran into the hall where Luka still stood and said to him, "Tox screen is back on Carter. It came back negative for all drugs and chemicals. It's just alcohol, and a hell of a lot." Luka and the staff continued to treat the doctor by giving him charcoal and re-hydrating his body.

A couple hours later, Luka and Kerry walked into the lounge. Abby was silently sitting on the couch with a cold cup of coffee in her hands. She didn't even seem to notice that anyone had entered until Luka cleared his throat.

"Abby?" Kerry softly said, "We need to know what happened tonight."

Without answering the question, Abby asked, "Is Carter okay? What did he take?"

Luka was the one to answer this. "He didn't take anything. The tox screen came back negative. But his blood alcohol level was very high—"

"Is he going to be okay? Please tell me that he is still alive."

"Yes, he is alive," said Kerry, "He is going to be just fine. But right now we just want to know what happened."

"I don't know. I told Luka, I wasn't there. I went to talk to him this evening. I found him in a bar and brought him back to his house. He said that he was going to bed because of work this morning. But then I got a call from him and he could barely talk. I went to his house and found him unconscious and here we are." Abby took a sip of the coffee, not even noticing that it was cold. She softly continued, "When will he be able to go home?"

"Well, right not Dr. DeRaad is talking with him—"

"Wait, that's not right," Abby interrupted, "he doesn't need to see a shrink. He just had too much to drink."

Kerry sat down next to Abby and said, "I know why you are saying this. I understand where you are coming from, but we also have to follow procedure—"

"What procedure is this!" Abby stood up and glared between Weaver and Luka. "Everyday we have people come in here with alcohol poisoning but we don't make each of them see a psychiatrist."

"Abby we are just trying to be careful," Luka tried to explain, "We want to make sure Carter is going to be okay."

Back in the exam room, DeRaad sat in a bedside chair and questioned Carter on his recent behavior.

"So," DeRaad started, "I understand that you've had a rough year."

"You could say that," responded Carter. His voice was raspy from the intubation tube that had been down his throat. An oxygen tube was still leading to his nose and an IV was still re-hydrating him.

"How are you feeling today?"

Carter sighed and responded, "Like an idiot. I drank too much, too fast and my body couldn't handle it. I should have known I would get alcohol poisoning."

"So you are saying that at the time you didn't realize the consequences of your actions?" DeRaad questioned.

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I guess I just didn't realize how much I had to drink." Carter swallowed and winced from the sore throat.

"John, your blood alcohol level was," he flipped through the chart, "0.32. That's a lot of alcohol…four times the legal limit."

"Then it's a good thing I wasn't driving." Carter understood this procedure but he was getting sick of the questions. "Can you get to your point?"

"To get that drunk you'd barely be able to get the bottle to your mouth. There's no way for you not to know that you'd had too much—"

"And that's why I called for help."

"You called a friend, right?"

"Yes, I called Abby."

"Why not call an ambulance—?"

"I wasn't thinking!" shouted Carter. He'd regret yelling later, but for now his throat had to suffer. "I know what you are getting at but, no, I was not trying to off myself! I am not suicidal!" He glared intensely at DeRaad who showed no sign of backing down.

"Listen John, I am not trying to be a monster here, but your friends are very worried about you."

"They have no reason to worry," snapped Carter.

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes before DeRaad continued, "John, I'm sure you know the real reason why I am here. I mean, you are a doctor yourself. You know how these things work." DeRaad was watching Carter as Carter seemed to be staring through the walls. "With your past history of drug addiction and depression, the hospital has to be very careful with what happens now." This caught Carter's attention and he finally looked at the psychiatrist. DeRaad continued, "We have to make sure that you will be okay to continue working here. It is a liability issue concerning if you are emotionally stable to deal with a high stress job and, well, whether there is a chance that you will come into work drunk again."

"You know about that?" Carter's voice cracked with concern.

"Yeah, I do. John, I think you are a good guy who has had some rough times—more rough times than anyone should have. You just suffered a great loss. The last time that you had to deal with a tragedy you ended up in Atlanta."

"No. After the last loss I ended up in Africa. It was after my grandmother died. I didn't get trashed or turn to drugs or slit my wrists or do anything after that happened, except some world traveling." Carter was glad that he could think of that. For some strange reason it made him feel better. Perhaps it was because he had proved DeRaad wrong. Or maybe it was because it proved that he could handle stressors.

DeRaad sighed. "My point is that this is not the first time you have had problems dealing with loss. I don't think all of this was an attempt on your life, but I am going to recommend that you start going to back to AA. Do you still meet with your sponsor?"

"No." Carter's response was practically a whisper as he tried to comprehend what was happening.

"Well, I am going to recommend to you that you start seeing him again. Ultimately it will be your choice…that is, unless your superiors require it of you."

Carter made no response.

With a deep sigh, DeRaad wiped a hand over his face and continued, "Okay, I can't hold you for anything. Call me if you need anything." And he left.

Once DeRaad was out of the room, Carter proceeded to get ready to leave. He had just pulled out the oxygen tube and was beginning to take out the IV when Abby came in.

"Carter!" she yelled, "What are you doing?"

His voice was level and depressed as he saw the old, familiar scar hiding under his watch, "I'm leaving." Before Abby could respond Carter continued, "I can't believe you had me see DeRaad. You probably had another tox screen on me too."

"First of all, yes, there was a tox screen. But we had no clue if you took anything. And second, I had nothing to do with the psych consult. When they told me about it, I tried to get them to get DeRaad out. Don't blame me for that one."

Carter was barely listening to Abby as she spoke. He had found a gauze patch and pressed it to where the IV had been. Abby stayed quiet as she watched him search for something. Finally, Carter turned to her and asked, "Where are my clothes?"

"I don't know. I was asked to leave when they started working on you."

"Fine. I'll find them myself." In his hospital gown, Carter left the room and made his way to the nurses station. He didn't bother to check if Abby was following him. It didn't matter. She wasn't. As he rummaged under the counter, Carter heard a deep voice behind him.

He looked up to see Luka.

"What?" Carter asked.

"I asked 'what are you looking for?'"

"My clothes."

"Are you planning on leaving?"

Carter said nothing, but thought to himself, _Isn't it obvious?_

Luka continued, "Carter, you can't leave."

He found the bag and stood upright. "Yes I can. Psych cleared me and even if you don't, I'm leaving AMA. There's nothing you can do about it." Carter walked away from Luka and entered the men's washroom to change into his street clothes. When he exited, Luka was waiting in the hall. Carter didn't even wonder where Abby had run off to.

But Carter swore under his breath as he made a realization. "Well," he said to the Croatian as they walked to the doctor's lounge, "I won't be leaving anyways since I have a shift starting in a couple of hours."

"No you don't. You are either staying in a hospital bed or going home."

Carter spun around and hissed, "What? Why?"

"Because, Carter, I don't know how capable you are to work today, and I don't need a death to tell me. I am the attending and I am telling you that you are not working today's shift. You can come in tomorrow." Luka walked to the door but before leaving, he continued, "That is, only if you are feeling up to it tomorrow. I don't want you coming back again as the patient." And he left.

Carter slammed his locker and sulked out of the lounge, ashamed of what had taken place that day.

As he was about to clear the ambulance bay, he swore he heard someone shout after him, "Don't party too hard today!"

* * *

_I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut  
My weakness is that I care too much  
And my scars remind me that the past is real  
I tear my heart open just to feel_

_I'm Drunk and I'm feeling down  
And I just wanna be alone  
I'm pissed 'cause you came around  
Why don't you just go home?  
'Cause I channeled all your pain  
And I can't help you fix yourself  
You're making me insane  
All I can say is... _

_  
I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut  
And my weakness is that I care too much   
And our scars remind us that the past is real  
I tear my heart open just to feel_

_I tried to help you once  
Against my own advice  
I saw you going down  
But you never realized  
That you're drowning in the water  
So I offered you my hand   
Compassion's in my nature  
Tonight is our last stand_

_I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut  
And my weakness is that I care too much  
And our scars remind us that the past is real  
I tear my heart open just to feel_

_I'm drunk and I'm feeling down  
And I just wanna be alone  
You shoulda' never come around   
Why don't you just go home?  
'Cause you're drowning in the water  
And I tried to grab your hand  
I left my heart open  
But you didn't understand  
But you didn't understand_

_Go fix yourself_

_I can't help you fix yourself  
But at least I can say I tried  
I'm sorry but I gotta move on with my own life  
I can't help you fix yourself  
But at least I can say I tried  
I'm sorry but I gotta move on with my own life_

_I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut  
And my weakness is that I care too much   
And our scars remind us that the past is real  
I tear my heart open just to feel_

Song: _Scars_ lyrics by Papa Roach

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Wow, that was longer than I thought it would be. Well, I hope it was to your liking. Reviews are welcome. DMJ 


	7. Chapter 7: Euphoria Laced With Anger

_I'm back, baby! Sorry it took so long for this chapter. I have one more ready that I will probably put up next week, and I hope to finish this story by the end of June but knowing me that won't happen. We'll see. Well, I hope you like this one!_**  
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**Chapter 7: Euphoria Laced With Anger**

Two weeks had passed since Carter had been admitted for alcohol poisoning. He came in when he was scheduled to work, and made no attempt to socialize with his co-workers, during hours or after. Every day he looked worse than the last. His appearance was fading and no one could pretend they didn't notice. Yet no one spoke of it. They all knew he was drinking his dinners.

But the past few days had been a little different. Carter's moods were all over the place. Fellow doctors feared what the problem was, all remembering his past. But again, no one made any mention of it. That was, until Carter screamed at one patient and then bubbled over to the next one.

A little while later, Carter walked up to the counter, and to Weaver, Chen and Abby, he announced in a voice so happy it was practically singing, "I am going on my lunch break. Don't have too much fun without me."

When Carter had left, Chen asked Abby and Weaver to follow her to the lounge.

"Okay, Jing Mei," Weaver said, ruffling through papers, "What would you like to talk about?"

"Carter."

"What about him?" Abby asked. She had tried to stay as far from him as possible the past couple of weeks. She had saved his life that night, two weeks before, yet he yelled at her and blamed her for something. She didn't understand it, and she didn't care to._ Was life always like this? _

"Isn't it obvious?" Chen responded, "I know both of you remember what happened to him a few years ago, and what he did. I think it is all happening again."

It was Weaver's turn to speak, "Why do you think that? Have you witnessed anything?"

"You and I both witnessed his outburst earlier today! And now that sing-song happiness? His moods are going from elated to depressed to angry and back. He isn't himself. I have known John for longer than anyone here, and the only time he has ever been like this was . . . well, you know."

"Yes," Weaver answered, "but we have to take into consideration what he has been going through the past few months. He has been through a major ordeal–"

"No," Chen interrupted, "No making excuses again. That's what happened last time and look how bad it got. Abby, what do you think?"

Abby shook out of her daze, wondering _could it be true?_ _When did things got so complicated? _She answered both to Chen and herself, "I don't know."

Not getting the response she wanted, Chen focused back on Weaver and insisted, "We need to get a test."

"Chen," Weaver responded, "I understand your concern, but the fact is, two weeks ago, Carter was acting pretty much the same—"

"It was not this extreme," blurted Chen.

Weaver held her hand up and continued, "It may not have been, but he was moodier than usual then. And at that point we had the tox screen when he came in with alcohol poisoning. It can back negative. Unless you have more proof I don't want to do anything. But I do agree that it is upsetting. I think he just needs to get over the loss." Weaver turned to Abby and asked, "Abby, you lived with him. I'd really appreciate your thoughts.

_My thoughts?_ Abby's inner voice said,_ My thoughts are on his drinking. My thoughts are on how he thanks me for looking after him, and then yells when I take action to help. My thoughts are on that prescription in his pocket. Should I tell them all of these thoughts? Should I tell them any? No. Just like Jing Mei, I have no proof of anything. Can't we just go back in time? _

Then to the women she said, "I really . . . I'm not sure what to think. He has been acting strangely—"

Chen interrupted, "And you think we should confront him."

"No, that's not what I think. Carter's hard to read. And he doesn't always know how to express himself. Listen, if I get worried I'll let you know." Abby stood up. "I have patients." And she left with thoughts still spinning in her head. _I wish I could re-write history. _

Chen and Weaver watched her walk away, wondering what had caused Abby's fluster.

The rest of the day seemed to be going as it should. Injury. Trauma. Blood. Death and life. All in a days work. Abby thought that maybe the day would end on a high note. That didn't happen.

A few hours after Chen's meeting, just as Abby's shift was about to end, Chuny walked up to Abby and said that she had a problem with the drug lock-up.

As she rubbed her eyes, Abby mumbled to herself, "Why me?" and then to Chuny she replied, "What's the problem?"

"Well, you are still technically Ms. Nurse Manager, and there is a vial missing. I have counted twice, but it's not there. And you are not supposed to leave until it gets sorted out."

"What is the vial?" A deep pit had formed in Abby's stomach. _No, no, no, no. Anything but—_

"Fentanyl."

_Memories  
Light the corners of my mind  
Misty watercolor memories  
Of the way we were  
Scattered pictures  
Of the smiles we left behind  
Smiles we gave to one another  
For the way we were_

_Can it be that it was all so simple then  
Or has time rewritten every line  
If we had the chance to do it all again  
Tell me - Would we? Could we?_

_Memories  
May be beautiful and yet  
What's too painful to remember  
We simply choose to forget_

_So it's the laughter  
We will remember  
Whenever we remember  
The way we were_

_So it's the laughter  
We will remember  
Whenever we remember  
The way we were  
_

Song: _The Way We Were _ by Barbara Streisand

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I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. It was short, I know, but don't worry. Of course there will be more! As always, reviews are very welcome. DMJ 


	8. Chapter 8: A Vial of Smoke

_I'm on a roll now! Thanks for the reviews everyone... Enjoy!  
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**Chapter 8: A Vial of Smoke**

After Chuny had announced the missing medicine, Abby ran around trying to locate Carter, only to find that he was already off his shift. She decided that it would be unwise to hunt him down at his home again . . . _Especially since he probably won't be there, _Abby thought._ After all, it's happy hour._ She decided to wait till the next day.

And that's when the opportunity came. The day had been slow. All the doctors joked that there should be some schedule required so that everyone would know when slow times would come.

With no patients on the board, Abby raided the "lost and now ours" box to find something to occupy her mind. A yo-yo did it. Just as she was starting to get a rhythm going, she remembered about Carter. Where was he?

She turned to Pratt, who had just started his shift, and asked, "Have you seen Carter?"

"Yeah," he responded, practicing balancing a pen on his finger, "He's outside. Hey, did he always smoke?"

"Smoke?"

"Yeah, you know, cigarettes."

"No, well, not really. He's in the ambulance bay?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks," Abby responded as she walked outside. She knew Carter. And she knew him well enough to know that he only smoked when he was upset . . . or when he's . . . _no, Abby, push that thought out of your mind. You still have no proof. Except for a missing vial._

When she was almost at Carter sitting on the bench, she cleared her throat to get his attention. "Mind if I sit here?"

Carter rolled his eyes. He didn't want to talk to anyone. _Not now_, he thought. But instead he responded, "Go ahead."

They sat in silence for a moment. Finally Abby stated the obvious. "You're smoking again."

"I guess I am," Carter responded dryly. Inhale. Exhale.

"When did that happen?"

Carter shook his head in a way that only he did. It was a habit of his when he was answering a question or acknowledging something. "A couple weeks ago I guess." And again then there was an eerie silence between them.

Abby had to ask. She forced herself to go outside to sit with him. She might as well ask. But Carter did not want to speak. He wanted to simply sit and enjoy his cigarette.

Once again Abby took upon herself to end the dead air, "Um, Carter?"

"Yeah," he mumbled as he watched people walk by. He was in a daze. Abby was worried by this. She quickly surveyed his appearance. His eyes were sunken like someone who hadn't slept for some time. His cheeks were hollow like someone with malnutrition. And his skin was pale, like someone—

"Abby, what were you going to say?" Carter was getting irritated with the disturbance that was going nowhere.

"Oh, um, now don't get mad at me but it's just . . . you'd tell me if you were in any trouble, right? If you needed any help?—"

"What are you implying, Abby?" He didn't look away from the people walking by, and he didn't express any emotion in his voice. Recently he had been reminding himself, _keep calm_.

"I just . . . I just wanted to know . . . The thing is you have been drinking a lot lately." Abby was amazed that Carter was able to have an entire conversation without ever looking at her.

"And?"

This wasn't going as well as Abby had hoped. Could it go well? "I'm worried about your drinking."

"I've never had a drinking problem, Abby," he answered as he blew out smoke.

"True enough," Abby said under her breath. "But I just don't want it to lead to anything."

"Don't worry about me. I'm not letting it interfere with anything."

She needed to get this to go in the direction she had intended. There was only one way to do that. Be blunt. Anyway, there was no way to ask it gently. "Are you shooting up again?"

Studying his cigarette intensely, Carter simply took one last drag and flicked the butt away. As he blew out the smoke, he once again started watching people.

He finally spoke, again in a dry voice. "Considering there are no patients, there are a lot of people around here today." He took out another cigarette and lit it, still not looking at Abby.

Abby was stunned. _He's dodging the question._ She was getting sick of this

This time, suppressing the yell into a hiss, Abby repeated, "Are you shooting up?" It was just loud enough for Carter to hear, and no one else.

Finally, after another drag he responded, "Of course not."

"Look me in the eyes and say that." He slowly looked up at her for the first time in the conversation and she repeated in a whisper this time, "Are you shooting up?"

"No, I am not using." He never even blinked. But Abby didn't believe him. She knew him too well.

Carter must have sensed the tension because his entire attitude changed. He was no longer monotonous and dry. Instead he tried to joke, "But I could use a shot right about now. . . a shot in the head," and he put his hand to his head, imitating a gun going off.

"You know Carter, sometimes I can't tell if you're joking or not."

Still looking directly into Abby's eyes, Carter responded, "Neither can I." He looked away and resumed watching people walk by. After another drag on the cigarette, he continued, "Abby, you don't trust me, do you?"

She couldn't answer. She wanted to say that she did trust him. But she wasn't so sure anymore. "I'm going to be honest, Carter. I don't know if I can. There is a missing vial of fentanyl—"

"And you thing that I took it and that I've been shooting up. Because of course there is no better explanation. Blame it on the junkie."

"You've been moody, Carter. We don't know what to think anymore. And my mind keeps going back to that script. I know what your intentions were with that. I don't know what to do anymore."

Holding the cigarette between his lips he quickly took off his lab coat, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and took off his watch. Abby saw that there were no track marks. Only the faint scar of the old one.

Carter saw the look of relief on her face and smugly responded, "Sorry to disappoint you. Although I suppose this doesn't rule out the possibility of me popping pills." He stood up and continued, "You said that you don't know what to do anymore. Do nothing." He flicked his cigarette into the bay and walked back into the hospital, leaving Abby alone.

Carter tried to keep calm as he made his way through the hospital. It took so much energy that by the time he reached his destination he was shaking.

He found Dr. Weaver's office door open and walked right in, not even allowing her to speak.

"I know I've been acting differently lately. But guess what? My son just died and his mother just left me." He started walking to the door as if that was the end of the lecture. But instead of leaving, he turned back around and continued, "And you can stop sending Abby, hoping that she will catch me again. I don't know how I can get it through all of your heads, but I am not taking drugs. And if I want to drink that is my business—"

Weaver interrupted at this point. "But John, you made it our business when you came in drunk and again when you can in on an ambulance." She motioned for Carter to sit down. He paused for a minute as if considering whether or not it was a trap. Finally he sat down and crossed his arms.

Weaver continued, "I can see that you are very upset at all of this. But I honestly did not send anyone to 'catch you'. Some of your colleagues are worried. You haven't been taking care of yourself. And if I may say so, you look like hell."

Carter started to protest but Weaver stopped him. She said, "Please, let me finish. We are worried, and I want you to start taking better care of yourself. I would like it if you stopped drinking before it became a serious problem. But it is your life, and to an extent we have to trust that you will do what is best for yourself. I can't do anything until it starts interfering with your work."

"It won't," he interjected.

Weaver paused and gathered her thoughts. "Your tox screen came back negative. I have no real reason to go straight to the idea of drugs. Except that you are acting how you did when you were using. The thoughts keep going back and forth. We all know that you are going through a rough time right now. And I am very sorry that you feel we are treating you badly. But we just want to make sure that you don't end up back in Atlanta."

Carter did not know what to say. Finally, he stood and responded, "Thank you for taking the time to listen to me."

"Please, Carter, come talk to me if you ever need to. You know my number. Don't hesitate to call."

"Thank you." And he left. He walked into the washroom and splashed some water on his face. When he looked up in the mirror, he could barely recognize his own face. _Well,_ he thought, _she was right about one thing. I do look like hell._

Outside, Abby was still sitting on the bench, trying to understand everything that was going on. Her thoughts were interrupted when someone called her name.

She turned and saw Chuny walking toward her.

"Good news," Chuny said, happily, "I found the vial of fentanyl. It had fallen and was hiding in the corner, just beyond reach."

Abby smiled and responded, "That is good news. Thanks for finding it." But inside she was thinking, _I accused Carter for nothing. Shit._

_Well, you're my friend  
And can you see  
Many times we've been out drinking  
Many times we've shared our thoughts  
Did you ever, ever notice, the kind of thoughts I got  
Well you know I have a love, for everyone I know  
And you know I have a drive, for life I won't let go  
But sometimes this opposition, comes rising up in me  
This terrible imposition, comes blacking through my mind_

_And then I see a darkness  
Oh no, I see a darkness  
Do you know how much I love you  
Cause I'm hoping some day soon  
You'll save me from this darkness_

_Well I hope that someday soon  
We'll find peace in our lives  
Together or apart  
Alone or with our wives  
And we can stop our whoring  
And draw the smiles inside  
And light it up forever  
And never go to sleep  
My best unbeaten brother  
That isn't all I see_

_And then I see a darkness  
Oh no, I see a darkness  
Do you know how much I love you  
Cause I'm hoping some day soon  
You'll save me from this darkness_

_Song: "I See A Darkness" by Johnny Cash_

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So who is confused and is trying to figure out the mystery? Well, it will all be explained

Another chapter should be coming in a few day. Please review! DMJ


	9. Chapter 9: All the Possibilities

This is a shorter chapter, but I think you will like it...

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**Chapter 9: All the Possibilities**

Two days had passed and almost nothing had changed. It was the end of Luka's shift and he wandered into the lounge to find Abby standing motionless in front of her locker.

"Long day?" he asked but received no answer. Luka walked closer and put his hand on her shoulder. "Abby, is everything okay?"

She jumped slightly and turned around. "Hi Luka." She shut her locker. "Everything's fine."

"You sure?"

"No," she answered.

They walked over to the couch and sat down.

"It's Carter," Abby continued.

"What's he done now?"

She sighed. "He's just. He's not himself."

"Well, that's obvious. He hasn't been himself for some time now. And he's saying everything's okay?"

"He tries." Abby stood back up and started pacing around the room. "He drinks like a fish suddenly. I asked him if he's been taking anything else. He got really upset and showed me his arms. There were no marks. Some people here think that it's just PTSD but I know it's more. I know him better than that." She stopped pacing and sat back down next to Luka. "But this is where I start getting confused. Before he was stealing drugs from work. There's nothing missing this time. Maybe it is just alcohol."

"He could be getting something from a family doctor. He's rich. He could pay a doc for anything." Luka was trying to stretch his mind to all possibilities.

"Yeah." She paused. "But I think what bothers me more is that he might not be taking any drugs. After all, his drugs tests have been coming back negative."

"But it has been a while since his last one. Unfortunately we have no control over when he takes tests."

"You do."

Luka looked at her, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Luka, you're the ER attending. You have some power." _Maybe this is a way to find out the truth_, she thought. "If you truly believe that something is wrong you can bring it up with Kerry and Anspaugh. They will do what's right. They care about him."

"And if he isn't taking drugs?" Luka asked.

"Then…then one part of me will feel better and another will feel worse. His moods might be from PTSD which, strangely enough, is harder to recover from than addiction. Yet he is getting addicted as he's drinking himself stupid." She stopped talking and nothing was said for several minutes.

Finally Luka said, "Let's get something to eat."

"What?" Abby sounded appalled at the question.

"I am very concerned for Carter. He is a friend of mine, too. But there is nothing we can do for him tonight. Let's eat and then we can talk about it some more. And I promise that we will figure something out."

Abby thought about this for a moment. Luka was right. Maybe getting some food would clear her mind so that she could come at this situation in any way needed.

The pair walked out of the lounge, through the ambulance bay, and into Ike's. Just as Luka started towards an empty booth Abby grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"What is it?" he asked confused.

Abby was staring ahead as she said, "I'll be right back. I need to talk to him tonight." Sitting at the counter was Carter, working on some fries.

"I'm coming with you," Luka stated. "If I have to talk to the chiefs I should be able to tell them exactly how he is."

They made their way over to the counter. As they got closer, Abby noticed that not only was Carter nibbling on fries but he was also nursing a beer. To get his attention Abby cleared her throat.

Carter turned his head and smiled when he saw them. "Oh, hey guys. Do you wanna get a booth?"

"Sure," Abby responded, stunned at how chipper Carter was. She glanced at Luka as Carter gathered his items and started toward a booth. Luka's only reaction was a simple shrug of the shoulders.

Once all three friends were in a booth, Abby couldn't help but stare at Carter and the beer in his hand. After a minute of this Carter finally noticed and chuckled to himself. "God," he said, "is this some kind of ambush?"

Luka responded by asking, "How are you feeling today, John?"

"I am feeling fine." Carter suddenly felt trapped as he was sitting on the inside of the booth with Abby next to him. "And it is not because of a beer."

"I'm just surprised that you're drinking so close to where Kerry and Anspaugh often eat, considering your past and the past few weeks."

"Well, I think the cat's out of the bag here, Abby. Don't you?"

"You're getting closer to work. Soon you'll have a flask in there with you—"

Luka interrupted, "Abby." She was getting out of line.

But regardless of Luka's help, Carter still felt he needed to defend his actions. "I am allowed to drink a beer because I am not an alcoholic. And I would never drink while on call. Your interrogation is starting to make me paranoid."

"Do you have a reason to be paranoid?" Abby quickly snapped back.

"What are you getting at Abby?"

_Why does this have to be so hard_, she thought to herself. Then aloud she said, "The only reason why you should be paranoid is if you are hiding something. Are you hiding something?"

"I'm not doing this again. Let me out." Carter prepared himself as if he needed to make a mad dash for the door.

Abby held her place firmly as she said, "No."

It was Luka's turn to ask a question this time. To Carter he inquired, "Doing what?"

But Carter was starting to panic. He needed to get away from them. "Trying to explain myself!" he said a little louder than he intended. "Let me the fuck out of this booth."

Abby finally stood up and let him pass but as he was passing Carter continued, "I shouldn't have to explain anything! In fact, I have nothing to explain. Goodbye."

Carter hurried out of Ike's, not realizing that both Abby and Luka were following him.

To gain his attention Abby shouted, "Going to another bar, John?"

He spun around and replied, "You do not have the right to harass me like this. What I do on my own time is my own business! I showed you my arms; what more do you want!"

"I want you to stop drinking."

He took a couple steps closer to her and said, "We've been through this. I don't have a drinking problem." He turned back the way he was going and continued walking toward the El. Unfortunately Abby's next words stopped him in his tracks.

"It started when Kem left," she said.

Again Carter turned to face Abby and Luka. He didn't want to get upset because that would probably make them pursue him even more. Instead he simply replied, "Leave her out of it."

But Abby wouldn't let the conversation end. "Everyone has noticed—"

"I am not an alcoholic!" _So much for not getting mad._

Abby's eyes didn't waver at the outburst. She continued, "You could have fooled me."

"Stop telling me how to live my life!"

Abby stepped closer to Carter and lowered her voice down to a hiss without losing any of the intensity. "You call this living your life? You are wasting yourself down the drain all over again!"

But Carter was unaffected by her comment. He smugly responded, "And we all know you're the expert at that."

"That was low, Carter."

There was a silence between Carter and Abby for a moment. It was Luka that broke the silence. "What about pills?"

Carter looked at him, pretending to not understand the question. "What?" he asked.

Luka continued, "Or a vein not in your arms—"

Carter shook his head, as if out of habit. In a normal voice he stated. "Shut up."

But Luka again continued. "I've seen junkies find a spot between toes."

Without acknowledging the comment, Carter said to the pair, "I want both of you to leave me alone."

He turned and started walking away, but he knew they were still trailing him. He turned around to find out he was right. He did not raise his voice. He did not show any emotion. He simply said, "No. Don't follow me. Turn around. Leave me the fuck alone. Otherwise I will get my lawyer and file for harassment."

He continued walking to the El while Abby and Luka stood in place, watching him walk away.

After a few minutes Luka said to Abby, "You're right. He's not okay. I'll request the drug test."

_  
Tell me that you're alright  
yeah everything is alright.  
oh please tell me that you're alright.  
yeah everything is alright.I used to rely on self-medication.  
I guess I still do that from time to time.  
But I'm getting better at fighting the future.  
Someday you'll be fine.  
Yes, I'll be just fine._

_Tell me that you're alright.  
yeah everything is alright.  
oh please tell me that you're alright.  
yeah everything is alright._

_Hey, everything's fine.  
Hey, everything's fine.  
Hey, everything's fine.  
Hey, everything's fine._

Song excerpt: _Everything Is Alright_ by Motion City Soundtrack

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So, what does everyone think? I'm curious: Who thinks Carter is back on drugs? Who thinks it's the alcohol? Who thinks it's just PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder)? And who thinks it's a combination of things or something I didn't mention. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I will try to have another in a week or so. DMJ 


	10. Chapter 10: Three Meetings

Enjoy the chapter. Reviews are very welcome. I should have another chapter up soon.

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**Chapter 10: Three Meetings**

The next day Luka called a meeting with Anspaugh and Weaver as soon as he walked into the hospital.

"I have a serious matter to discuss," Luka started.

"I certainly hope it's serious. I have a surgery soon," replied Anspaugh.

"Okay," Luka continued, "I am having a problem with a doctor."

Kerry interrupted, "Let me guess: It's Carter."

"Yeah. I'm worried about him. As I'm sure you've heard, he hasn't been acting like himself lately."

"Didn't he lose his son not too long ago?" Anspaugh asked.

"Yes." Luka was unsure how to go about this meeting. The first time Carter was caught with drugs Luka had already been working at County, but this was different. This time it was Luka who was ratting Carter out. But was there anything to rat out to begin with? No one had seen him take anything. No other tests had come back positive. But still something wasn't right. No, Luka knew that it was up to him to determine if there was an actual problem. He cleared his throat and continued, "I'm worried that he's started using drugs again."

Anspaugh, who had been writing something down, stopped and looked up at Luka, "What makes you think that?"

"I just feel that something is off. His moods are all over, just like a few years ago when he was first found out. And, just like a few years ago, he is getting antsy and guilty. I have no idea if I am right, but I don't want to find out too late. I want to make sure that he isn't taking drugs again for his sake and for the sake of our patients."

"Are you sure about this?" Anspaugh seemed to be hesitant about the whole situation.

"No," was all that Luka could respond.

Kerry shifted in her chair and, nodding her head, said, "I am."

"Even though all previous tests came back negative?" said Anspaugh

Kerry nodded again. "Yes. Luka's right. Something is wrong with him."

"But he just lost his son and there is no proof—"

"If we had proof we wouldn't need the test." Kerry replied. "At this point it would be better to get proof that he _isn't_ on anything."

Anspaugh sighed and stared down at whatever it was he had been writing. "I remember when Dr. Carter was a bright-eyed and smiling young man. Then there was that whole incident that led to Atlanta. He never will be the same. Unfortunately I haven't had as much contact with him since then. Kerry, it's your call. You know him better than I do."

"Okay. After Atlanta it was written in his contract that there could be random tests. Luka, get him to do the test. If he objects, just tell him to come talk to me."

This had been easier than Luka had expected. Of course Abby had thought they would go along with him from the start. No one wanted anything to happen to Carter. He was loved throughout the hospital, always known for his good bedside manner and his passion for the patients.

Luka nodded at them and replied, "Thank you." He stood up and started toward the door.

As he was leaving, Anspaugh said behind him, "I hope you are wrong. I'm not sure what I'll have to do if it turns out that Dr. Carter is using drugs again. We can't keep letting him back. So, I hope to God you are wrong."

Luka turned back and responded, "So do I." He made his way down to the ER. The entire way down there he was playing in his mind how he would confront Carter. Kerry had said to send Carter up to her if there were any problems. Luka was almost sure Carter would object.

Just as he found Carter an MVA pulled came into the ER. Both Carter and Luka worked on the patient and sent him up the OR in record time. Luka noticed that Carter seemed to be in pain throughout their work. As they were cleaning up Carter must have sensed that Luka was getting ready to do something.

"Are you feeling okay?" Luka asked, innocently.

"Yeah." Carter winced at something. "I just have a headache."

It had to be asked. "Are you hungover?"

The answer was quiet but easily understood, "Yeah." He wasn't even trying to deny it anymore.

Carter looked up at Luka and saw that the attending was watching him as Carter picked up a partially empty syringe to put into the sharp objects bin.

"Do you think I am going to try to steal this? That I will use whatever is in here to get high?" Carter inquired.

"I'm not sure what to think when it comes to you. But I do need to talk." Luka took a couple steps closer to Carter and continued. "I need you to take a drug test." Even though he had worried about what to say, he felt it would be better to say exactly what was needed without beating around the bush.

"Is that what your meeting was about today?" Carter continued cleaning, acting as if Luka's request was an every day occurrence.

"You knew about the meeting?"

"Yeah, the whole ER did. And they all knew it was about me. They just didn't know what exactly. I heard some of the nurses say that I was getting fired." Carter dropped another syringe into the bin. "Am I getting fired?"

"That depends on the test results I suppose."

"I don't need to be tested. I'm clean."

"That's for the lab techs to determine."

Carter was getting mad. "And what if I refuse? What then? Will you fire me then?"

"Yes." Luka was looking directly at Carter while Carter was avoiding eye contact.

Carter started pacing around the room, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. "I can't do this. Not now." He looked up at Luka, as if he was hoping that the attending would simply let him off the hook.

"John, I'm not going to postpone this until substances could get out of your system. It's now or never. The question is, do you have anything to hide?"

"No," he quietly responded, "I have nothing to hide. Just because I'm…Just because I drink doesn't mean I'm on anything." But then louder he asked, "But who gave you the authority to do this?" He was getting desperate now, trying to find any way out of this.

"Kerry and Anspaugh. Listen, either you can take the test and see what happens or you can walk out of here and say goodbye to your job with no chance of coming back. It's your call." He put his hand of Carter's shoulder to stop the young doctor from pacing. Then he continued, "If you have nothing to hide, then why don't you just take the test to prove it to all of us?"

"Because you already have tested me."

"That was some time ago. And, although I am sure you are sick of hearing this, we are all concerned about how you have been acting recently."

"Are you kidding me?" Carter was angry now. "If it was anyone else in this ER you would be satisfied by now!"

"But it's not anyone else. It's you, John. And this is what I have chosen to do—"

"How many times do you need to test me before you're satisfied that I'm clean!"

"Just one more time, John." Luka remained calm.

The two men stared at each other for some time. It may have seemed that Carter was trying to stare Luka down to get him to back down. The same could be said about Luka. But Luka could tell that Carter was weighing his options in his mind. Finally it was Carter who caved.

"Fine," he said. He walked out of the trauma room and started down the hall. Luka followed closely behind him, picking up a specimen cup along the way. The walked into the men's washroom and Luka made it clear that he was not going to leave Carter's side through the test. Carter acted as if he didn't even notice. In a minute the process was over. The cup was handed over.

"That wasn't too bad was it?" asked Luka.

Carter muttered his response, "Nothing I haven't done before." He washed his hands, cleared his throat, and on their way out he continued, "I'm done for today. I'm going home."

"You just started your shift." Luka was labeling the specimen and set it on a cart for the lab.

"If you can't trust me to be clean at work, and obviously you can't," he gestured at the cup, "then you must not think that it's safe for me to work on patients. After all, who knows what I'm hopped up on today? I'm talking to Kerry and then I'm leaving." And he left. Luka didn't bother to stop him,

By the time Carter had reached Weaver's office he was fuming. Without knocking he stormed in.

"Who the hell do you think you are!" he yelled at the boss. His headache flared up again. He put his hands to his face and gentle rubbed his temples.

Weaver was startled by the sudden interruption of her work. "Excuse me? Carter, are you okay?"

He ignored the second question, not wanting to explain himself. Instead he replied, "I have done everything you requested and you still don't believe that I am clean!" He winced at his own shouting and started pacing again.

"Did you take the test?" Kerry had her full attention on Carter, trying to read every move that he made. He sat down across from her desk and started bouncing his leg as if in anticipation or from nerves.

"Yeah, I took it. Do I have to worry about my job, Kerry?" Carter's leg stopped bouncing and he looked into Kerry's eyes. His eyes were sunken and had dark circles under them. As Kerry looked back, it seemed as if Carter was about to cry. This broke her heart.

"Let's cross that bridge when we get to it—"

"No. I need to know now. Tell me the truth." The bouncing began again but now he was also biting on his fingernail.

Kerry sighed. "If the test comes back positive we will help you get clean, but there's no guarantee that you will be able to continue working here. But if you are telling us the truth, if you are not using drugs, you will not have to worry about losing your job. However, then we will have to determine what's going on because something isn't right here, John. You know it and I know it. I mean, come on. Even now you are obviously coming off a long night."

"I'm fine." Carter stood again and leaned against the wall, crossed his arms and looked at the floor.

"Yeah, that isn't very convincing Carter." She walked near him and sat on the arm of the chair he had just vacated. "This is the Catch-22 you have gotten yourself into now. You have closed us all out. So now that you are moodier than the psych ward, saying 'I'm fine' won't cut it." Carter still hadn't looked up at Kerry, but she continued, "Let's just see what the test results say and then we'll go from there. If you're telling the truth you don't have to worry about your job. But your worrying doesn't ease my mind any. So I'm going to give you another chance to come clean—no pun intended. Should I expect to see anything in the results?"

"Nothing that you need to worry about." Carter quickly walked out of the office without raising his eyes up to his boss.

* * *

_Woke up with a headache from the night before  
Cause sometimes I drink  
Spent the night with my head in the toilet bowl  
It's where I like to think  
I said cause I don't want no one to take a piece of my heart  
I hate to lose all the little bitty pieces from my heart  
La-da-da hey-o_

_Ya ever spend all night thinking about your life  
well I suggest we try  
Well it's something that you're gonna wanna do with the night  
Cause I tend to cry  
I said cause I don't want no one to take a piece of my heart  
I hate to lose all the little bitty pieces from my heart  
Lalalala had-ey-o_

_Ya ever spent all day thinkin' bout the night  
It's something that you do  
When you think away too much you're out of sight  
What ya gonna do  
I said cause I don't want no one to take a piece of my heart  
I hate to lose all the little bitty pieces from my heart  
Lalalala had-ey-o_

Song: "Hangover" by O.A.R.


	11. Chapter 11: Eye Level

Oh my god guys! I am back! It's been too long! Grad school was kicking my ass, and then I got strep (twice) and mono on top of that. Craziness! So, this is a pretty long chapter. I hope it works for you for a while. But I will try my best to get another chapter up this weekend. I know what you're thinking: "Yeah, right. Like that will happen." But wouldn't that be amazing? Anyway, enjoy! Diana

* * *

**Chapter 11: Eye Level**

The night after Carter walked out of Weaver's office he couldn't sleep. He wasn't sure if it was because of his nerves about the test or if it was because he was desperately trying to not drink that night. He feared it was the latter. Sleep comes easy to one who is intoxicated. And the alcohol brings about a restful sleep, one with few to no dreams. Or in Carter's case few to no nightmares. Without the alcohol that night the nightmares controlled his night, causing him to toss and turn and ultimately stay on his couch watching television.

The evening of the next night, a Wednesday night, Carter was still very upset about the previous day, so upset in fact that he spent the day sulking around the house. His thoughts kept going back to what all of his coworkers had been stressing to him: that they were worried about him, that he hadn't been acting like himself. He kept telling himself that he didn't need to worry about the test results. That everything would be alright, but somehow even he wasn't convinced. If he couldn't convince himself, how could he be convincing to his coworkers?

He sat on the couch in his and Kem's house, with the television on. But he wasn't really watching the show. He still wasn't comfortable in the house. It wasn't his home and it never would be. He stared at the wall until the doorbell broke his gaze. After a moment of contemplation on whether he should bother answer, he finally decided that it might be important.

He lumbered over to the door and, without looking out the window, opened it a crack. Outside he saw his former mentor, Peter Benton.

The shock must have been obvious because Benton spoke first, asking, "Are you going to let me in, or what, Carter?"

"Yeah," he mumbled and walked into his living room, leaving Benton in the foyer. Benton closed the door and followed Carter, who was already sitting on the couch, again staring at the wall with the television on.

"What are you watching?" Benton chose to remain standing.

"I don't know. Some medical drama. They're all fake anyways. Gray's Anatomy is all about sex."

"Carter."

"House M.D. is just about a grumpy doctor. Addicted to painkillers. Ha, funny considering my life. Maybe it was loosely based off of me."

"Carter." Benton then thought to himself, _Wait, what?_

"At least Scrubs is funny."

Benton crouched down to Carter's eye level, and one last time said, "Carter. I need to talk to you."

This finally got Carter's attention. He looked at the older doctor and replied, "Peter… What are you doing here?"

"Are you all right? You just let me in, don't you remember?"

"No, I mean what do you want?" Carter turned off the television.

"I want to know what's going on with you, Carter."

Carter's tone suddenly changed and his body stiffened. "Did _they_ call you?"

Benton stood up from the crouch and crossed his arms. "Yeah, I heard you were getting paranoid."

Now it was Carter's turn to stand. "I'm not fucking paranoid! Why else would you be here except to rescue me once again?!"

"And what exactly do you think I'm supposed to be rescuing you from?"

"Myself." He sat back down on the couch and Benton sat down next to him.

He replied, "Well, at least you realize something is wrong."

Carter shifted and turned to face Benton. "But they don't understand. This isn't like before."

"Then what is it? This time is it for fun?"

Carter stood again and snapped back, "What are you talking about? Fun? How is any of this fun?!"

Benton just stared at Carter for a moment before continuing, "I know what your test results were. I know that you have been taking sedatives—"

"They are sleeping pills and they have been prescribed to me by my doctor."

"Yeah, so why are you taking them? To see if you can beat the system and get addicted to a whole new substance?"

Carter walked to his liquor cabinet and poured himself a scotch. Under his breath he mumbled, "I've been so good until now." With his back still to Benton he continued, "Abby wanted me to quit drinking." He took a sip and then followed it with a gulp.

"I see it's working wonderfully," replied Benton.

Carter had finished off his drink and poured another, telling himself that he would drink this one much more slowly. On his way back to the couch he lit himself a cigarette and took a long drag.

"You're smoking again."

"That doesn't mean anything. Everyone has it in their heads that my smoking means that I am…you know…in trouble. I cut back drinking and that should be good enough for Abby and everyone else."

"And yet here you are drinking again. But all of this still doesn't answer my question. Why are you taking sedatives?" He waved some smoke away from his face. Carter noticed but didn't care. Benton could leave if it bothered him too much.

The younger doctor decided that maybe he should explain. After all, he would have to explain it to the hospital administration soon enough. "When I started limiting my alcohol last week I," he hesitated as if unsure whether it was safe to continue, "couldn't sleep."

"I see. So instead of getting help, you start taking those and mix them with booze. Smart, Carter, real smart. You're a doctor. You know how wrong this is." The smoke was beginning to bother Benton so he stood up and took a step back.

Carter didn't seem to notice, not missing a beat in the conversation. "Yeah, well, maybe Abby is right. Maybe I am an alcoholic."

The room stood still. Neither man spoke for a good two minutes. It was Benton who broke the silence.

"No. After fighting with everyone so much about this, now you are just saying 'yeah you were right'? I'm not letting you off the hook so easily, Carter. I don't know if you are an alcoholic or not. But I do not that this isn't right. You just wanted to find a way to beat the system. This is a way for you to—"

Carter stood, "They're not narcotics. They're sleeping pills."

"I don't want to hear any excuses, Carter." He started walking towards the door with Carter following, scotch glass, cigarette and all.

"I'll give you credit for saving my life once. But this isn't the same situation. I don't need to be saved from anything now." He finished the drink, took one last drag on the cigarette and put that in the empty glass. The glass was left on a hallway table as they made their way to the door.

But before getting there Benton turned back around to face Carter. He continued, "You know, when Gant died I had so much guilt that some nights I couldn't sleep. The same thing happened when you went to rehab. But that time it was much worse. I couldn't believe that I let that happen to you. I mean, it's you, Carter. You were one of my best students. I couldn't believe what was happening. But then I realized that there was nothing I could do. Some things happen in life that we can't prevent. Like your son—"

"Stop it."

Benton took one step closer to Carter and said, "Destroying yourself won't bring him back."

That made Carter snap. He pulled Benton by the collar and, turning, shoved him into the table, causing the glass to fall and shatter.

But that didn't stop Benton from continuing, "It didn't bring Lucy back, did it?"

Before Benton could react, Carter punched him in the jaw, knocking him to the ground.

Still Benton didn't seem phased by the whole ordeal. Instead his response was, "Why do you always get violent when you are on shit?"

To this, as Benton was getting back to his feet, Carter put his hands up in a way to imply, that's it, I'm done, you got me. But he said, "You're right. I'm injecting heroin into my eyes. Why are you so accusing?! The test came back negative for narcotics. Yeah, I am taking sleeping pills. Yeah, I drink, and it may be too much by yours and Abby's standards. But like you said, I am a doctor and I will know when I need help!"

Benton had once again put himself between Carter and the door, not to keep Carter in the house, but in case he, Benton, wanted to walk out.

"Who are you trying to fool?" Benton replied, "Because now I can't tell if it's me or yourself. Yeah, you are a doctor and you should know. But that didn't stop you last time."

"This is how I cope and I don't understand why everyone is getting in the way of my grieving."

"Because, no matter what you think and no matter what it is you are taking, you are poising your body."

"Please leave. I'll call if I need any help." Carter's eyes looked dead of all emotion. This sent chills down Benton's spine.

Benton walked the last few steps to the door. Just before leaving the house he turned around and replied, "I'll be waiting by the phone." And he was gone.

Once Carter had cleaned up the glass from the floor in the hallway, he made his way back to the living room. He poured himself a fresh drink and sat back down. But he didn't feel like watching television any longer. After taking his medication, he decided that it would be best if he tried to get some sleep. One last cigarette and finishing the drink he had already poured, and he was off to bed.

But still sleep did not come easily. It was still early, but anytime before 4am was early for Carter. Around 11pm Carter got up from bed. He paced the living room as he tried to decide what to do. When he finally had made up his mind, he got dressed, grabbed his car keys and started driving.

At his destination, he ran up the steps and someone held the front door open for him, probably recognizing him from too long ago. He continued up the stairs until his reached her apartment and pounded on the door. By then he was fuming.

Abby opened the door a crack, leaving the chain on, and her eyes showed her surprise. "Carter, what are you doing here?"

"Let me in Abby. I need to talk to you." He was sharp with his statements, trying to let her know that this was a serious matter.

Once inside, Carter started pacing in her apartment, just as he had done in his own house. "How could you do that to me?!" he shouted at her. He stopped moving and stared, waiting for an answer.

"What are you talking about," she asked, pretending to be innocent in the whole ordeal.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. You called up Peter Benton and filled him in on my life. You told him my test results before I even knew them—"

"Bullshit, Carter. You knew that you were going to test positive."

"I didn't test positive for narcotics!"

"That doesn't matter!" She stared right back at him. "Sedatives, Carter? What the alcohol wasn't working for you so you decided to tack on some more depressants?"

"No. I am not talking about that now. I am talking about Peter. You told him my private records. I could sue you for that!"

"I was trying to help you see straight!" Abby shouted back.

Carter wavered a bit and put his hand on the wall to steady himself.

Abby was concerned. "Carter," she had lowered her voice, "Carter, are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine." He stood up straight again and began the argument again. "The sleeping pills don't go against my contract."

"That doesn't make it right. They are still habit forming."

Carter shook his head at her comment, as if she had said some ludicrous idea. He replied, "I told this to Peter and I'll tell it to you. It's helping me cut back on drinking. I'm doing what you asked."

"No. You just found a different way to do the same exact thing."

"What I really want to know, Abby, is if you thought it was so necessary to tell him about the sleeping pills, then why not tell him about the anti-depressants?"

A genuine look of confusion spread across Abby's face, "You're taking anti-depressants?"

"Don't tell me you didn't know about that."

"I honestly didn't. I was told about the sedative's—"

"Who told you?"

Abby hesitated as if she didn't want to rat out another doctor. Finally she decided that she needed to tell him. He would find out sooner or later. "Kerry."

He hung his head down. Then in a flash he shouted, "God damn it!" and punched his fist into the wall. He hit his hand hard, not hard enough to break his hand, but hard enough to crack the skin on his knuckles.

"Carter!" Abby jumped and rushed over to take a look at his hand. "Come here." She led him to the couch and proceeded to get a wet washcloth and a bandage. Once she was sitting down next to him and taking care of his hand she forced herself to once again ask, "You're taking anti-depressants?"

"Yeah," was his only response.

"It had gotten that bad?" She had finished bandaging the wound and sat back. Carter however, leaned forward and, resting his elbows on his knees, put his face in his hands.

"I started seeing a shrink. He suggested that I try the anti-depressants. I did and still don't think I need them, but he insisted that they would help. But I still couldn't sleep so he gave me the sedatives." He leaned back but still couldn't look Abby in the eyes.

She said, "Carter, you know you can always come to me if you need to talk." She gently turned his face so that their eyes met.

"It's not that easy anymore, Abby." He stood up but his legs swayed, forcing him to sit back down.

"Carter, are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, I'm just tired." He was lying and they both knew it. Inside Carter's head was spinning but he didn't want her to know it was that bad. He stood up again, this time successfully, and made his way around the coffee table. But that was as far as he got. Carter's legs buckled and he collapsed, falling like a pile of bricks.

"Carter!" Abby screamed. She ran to him and knelt down, looking into eyes that were far away. And then she smelled it. "You've been drinking! Have you taken any meds today?!"

He didn't respond. His eyes still told her he was in a distant place. She slapped him hard across the face, "Carter! Have you taken any meds?"

He mumbled something that she assumed was a positive response. With all of her might she pulled him up and slung one arm around her shoulders. "Walk, Carter." He did the best he could but nearly fell down the stairs. Luckily they made it to the curb and she got him into the car. Just as she was about to close the door, he pushed her back and vomited on the street.

"Christ Almighty," she muttered. She didn't see any blood in the vomit so she got in the car and started driving. As she sped away she thought she saw a familiar car. Then it hit her.

"You drove yourself! Carter, you could have been killed! What would have happened if you passed out at the wheel! You fucking idiot!" She knew that he probably wasn't catching any of this and that she was shouting to herself. She didn't regret it.

By the time they got to the hospital Carter was slightly more alert. Vomiting must have gotten some substances out of his system, thus meaning he hadn't taken them long before going to see Abby. Once again she put one of his arms over her shoulder. He was able to walk better this time and they made their way in to the ER.

"I need a gurney!" Abby shouted as they entered.

Malik came up fast behind them with a gurney ready and he helped her get Carter onto it. Once the doctor was lying down, however, he tried sitting back up saying, "I'm fine. Leave me alone. I'm fine."

Malik pushed him back down and replied, "It's okay, man. You have to hang tight for a while." As they rolled him down the hall Malik asked Abby, "Alcohol again?"

"No," she replied. Once they were in a room she ordered, "Get Luka."

"Carter," Abby said as she looked down at the ill doctor. "You know what has to be done now, right?"

Carter looked at her and the nurse without saying a word. Deep in his eyes she saw a realization of the moment.

Still she was obligated to tell him. "We might have to use charcoal and pump your stomach--."

"I know," he whispered. He didn't want to hear the truth of the situation. There would be plenty of time for that later. He knew he made a mistake.

He was wheeled into Exam Room 2 and he watched as people bustled around him. He wanted to fight the staff. He wanted to bolt. But something stopped him. He realization of surrender is a strong punch, and that's exactly what he felt.

Susan entered the room and pushed Abby aside.

"You shouldn't be working on him, Abby," she said.

Carter saw this. He saw Abby protest. And he saw a look of panic in everyone's eyes as an alarm went off. Everything went black when he stopped breathing.

* * *

_You better put that down  
You better put that down_

_All I need is a bottle, and I don't need no friends, no  
Wallow in my pain, I swallow as I pretend  
To act like I'm happy, when I drink till no end, no_

_I'm losing all my friends, I'm losing in the end  
She says:_

_Behave, little boy, you better sit back down  
Till you hold your ground  
It's your turn to learn to fight  
You better sit back down, till you hold your ground_

_When I'm sober, life bores me, so I get drunk again  
I'm losing all my friends, I'm losing in the end  
She says:_

_Behave, little boy, you better sit back down  
Till you hold your ground  
It's your turn to learn to fight  
You better sit back down, till you hold your ground, yeah_

_You better sit back down  
You better put that down  
Put the bottle down, I am on a binge_

_Behave, little boy, you better sit back down  
Till you hold your ground  
It's your turn to learn to fight  
You better sit back down, till you hold your ground, yeah_

_I am on a binge, I wish things would change  
Wish they'd rearrange, I'm on a binge_

_I wish things would change, Wish they'd rearrange,  
I am on a binge, I'm on a binge, yeah_

Song: "Binge" by Papa Roach


	12. Chapter 12: The Doctor Is In

_Oh my god! I did it! I got another chapter up so soon! But enjoy it cuz classes start again tomorrow so it will be a while till the next chapter is up. DMJ_**  
**

* * *

**  
Chapter 12: The Doctor Is In**

She sat next to his bed, waiting for him to open his eyes. She knew he was going to be okay. His brain wasn't deprived of oxygen for more than thirty seconds. Still she wanted to be there when he first woke up.

Just as his eyes started readying to open, and as she held his hand, the door burst in and Kerry Weaver stormed into the room.

"Abby, Malik, out now," she sternly said. They obeyed but not without Abby and Weaver exchanging glances which neither Malik nor Carter could interpret.

The chief walked to the young doctor, now conscious, and saw that he was pointing at the tube currently in his throat. Without any sympathy she said, "One, two, three, blow," and pulled the tube as Carter coughed.

"What am I doing here? What happened?" his raspy voice asked.

"I'm not surprised you don't remember. But I am surprised you don't have more brain damage." She aggressively crossed her arms and continued, "Abby brought you in here after you mixed alcohol, anti-depressants, and sleeping pills. She thought that you had cleared most of it out of your system after you had vomited. Unfortunately, she was wrong as while here you stopped breathing from the combination of drugs still in your system." Weaver paused and the utter silence made her next sentence all the more powerful. "Are you trying to get fired?!"

"What?! No! Of course not! This whole thing was a complete accident."

"I hope for your sake the shrink sees it the same as you." Weaver started to leave but was brought back by Carter's shout.

"You're having me evaluated by a shrink?!"

"What did you expect? That after this we would just let you back home to do this to yourself again? You know the procedure, John. If it remotely looks like it could have been a suicide attempt, a psychiatrist has to evaluate the patient and there's a seventy-two hour hold for observation."

"But you have the authority to override that rule." A look of desperation was in his eyes.

"That's right, I do."

"I wasn't trying to kill myself!"

"Carter, you can tell me that till you're blue in the face, but in the end that's not for me to determine. Oh, and one last thing before I leave: You are suspended for a minimum of fourteen days. After that it depends on how fast you clean up your act. I have decided that you are a liability to the hospital and therefore you temporarily cannot work here."

"Since Atlanta, I have never come into a shift intoxicated in any way!"

"And how should I know that? Maybe you just did a better job at hiding it before."

"You know that's not true! You're just trying to cover your ass!" He pushed himself into a sitting position for emphasis on his anger.

"You're right, I am. In addition to the suspension, you will be required to attend a minimum of thirty AA or NA meetings in the next 30 days … after the hold of course."

"Why are you being like this?" Carter couldn't believe the amount of disdain and disgust he heard in Weaver's voice.

"You know what, John? I have given you enough chances with all these problems of yours. None seem to have worked. So now I figure I should try tough love."

She went to a cabinet, took something out and continued, "I almost forgot protocol." Soft restraints.

"Please don't," he begged.

"Suicide watch. I have to for your own safety." Carter jerked back at first, as a half-hearted attempt to refuse. Weaver continued, "It will be easier if you don't fight me about them. Or I'll have to sedate you."

He stopped moving. He gave in and let her tie him down, feeling like a tethered criminal. He didn't understand how she could be acting like this. Weaver was a friend and he never knew her to treat anyone like this. _Maybe it's all a dream…a horrible nightmare_, he thought to himself. He had a sad feeling that everything being experienced was real.

As Weaver left she said, "We'll have a meeting in three days to discuss your contract and future here. Any questions?"

"Am I at risk of losing my job?"

"I don't know, John. We're all starting to give up. Even Anspaugh. Let's see how you come out here before I say anything more." Finally, a hint of compassion in her voice.

But something urged Carter to blurt out, "You can't do this to me." It was almost another plead.

"Of course I can." The compassion was gone. "I'm the chief." She turned ready to leave, until—

"I'll sue you."

This caught her attention. He knew if anyone would flinch on legal issues it would be Kerry Weaver. She walked back to his bedside again and responded, "I have you best intentions in mind. Any doctor would agree that based on your actions you could be a threat to yourself. To not do this would be considered irresponsible—."

"It's not about this. Well, not really."

"Then what is it?" Her arms were crossed again.

"You told Abby my medical results and she then told Peter Benton. She wasn't my doctor and therefore had no right to know. And Peter certainly didn't need to know. What you did was illegal and I could sue you for that."

"Are you blackmailing me? Because that's illegal too, Dr. Carter."

"Not blackmail, just a warning that might make you reconsider your," he made quotation marks with his restrained fingers, "sentence."

Weaver walked closer to the bed and sat on its edge. "Here's the deal," she said, "You will see the shrink when he comes down here. You will most likely be required to be on the seventy-two hour suicide watch, depending on what the shrink thinks. Then you, Anspaugh, and I will have a contract meeting. And finally you will have your suspension for fourteen days, minimum, and the thirty meeting AA / NA requirement. And all this is regardless of your 'warning'." She imitated his finger quotations. "John, Anspaugh is already watching you. So, with something like this, if I didn't follow procedure, it would send up red flags. My ass would be in the sling, but he would make sure to put you through all these steps anyways." She stood up and started walking to the door. "And I know you wouldn't want to bring down a friend just out of spite. Sue me or don't. It's your choice. But either way it won't get you out of your current situation." And she left before Carter could say one more word.

Outside the hospital room, Abby waited impatiently. As soon as she saw Weaver leave the room, she leapt up and followed the chief, asking questions, "What did he say? What's going to happen now? What are you going to do with him?"

"Abby, I can't talk with you about his case anymore. He threatened to sue because I gave out his medical record to you."

"Oh, you know he won't actually sue—"

"I don't think he will, but I also don't want to give him more ammunition than he already has. Abby, I know I had asked you to keep an eye on him, but now I take that back. I don't want you to get caught up in this anymore than you already are."

"You know I can't back out and just drop my concern for him now. I know there is a bigger problem brewing."

"Just be careful. You don't want to put your career in jeopardy."

"Better my career than his life."

"True, but be cautious. And come to Anspaugh or me if you stumble upon anything of serious concern."

"Like last time."

Weaver sighed, "Yeah, like last time."

Back in the hospital room, strapped to bed, Carter waited for the shrink to come down. In that time he thought of what Kerry told him. There really would be no benefit of getting her in trouble. And he couldn't bring himself to do that to her anyways. What had he gotten himself into? A suicide hold, suspension, and yet another contract rewrite, that's what. All because he wanted to sleep without dreams. As his mind drifted to these thoughts, the shrink entered: a resident who didn't look much older than twenty-five. Oh boy.

"Um," Carter asked, "Is there any way I could see Carl DeRaad?"

"I'm the only person available right now. You'd have to wait to see Dr. DeRaad."

"I'll wait. It's nothing against you," he lied, "I'd just rather see Carl. He's very familiar with my case."

The resident flipped through his own chart. "Okay, yeah. I see he's seen you before. I'll page him. But like I said it'll be a bit of a wait."

"Okay, thanks."

The resident made a slight nod and smile, and left.

Carter lost track of time as he waited, but he knew it was well over an hour. No one came into the room to visit, and he was fine with that. Finally DeRaad entered.

"John," the shrink said, "here we are again. Ah, and restraints this time. It must have been something good."

"More embarrassing than anything else," Carter replied.

"It usually is. You're not planning on escaping, are you?"

"Nah, there's not much point. Security would tackle me before I took my third step."

DeRaad chuckled and moved closer to the bed. "Then let's make you more comfortable and get these restraints off of you."

As he took the straps off, Carter told himself that he, Carter, wouldn't be argumentative or difficult with DeRaad. He just didn't have the energy to be anything besides cooperative. And he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

"Thanks," Carter said as the last restraint came off and he sat a little more upright.

DeRaad pulled a chair up alongside the bed and settled in. "So, what happened this time, John?"

"It's dumb, really. I got some anti-depressants and sleeping pills from my psychiatrist--"

"And what's your doctor's name?"

"Dr. Tom Ashtor, private practice."

"Is he a family friend?" Carter knew that DeRaad was well aware of the Carter family, and that they could have access to any prescribing doctor.

Anger flashed in Carter's eyes, and then it was gone. He responded, "He is, but it's not what you think. Dr. Ashtor is legitimate."

DeRaad wrote on his chart. "Are you seeing him regularly?"

"Fairly regularly."

"Okay, go on."

"I had taken my prescriptions – no narcotics, as I'm sure my lab tests verify, but I had gotten in an argument, got all upset, drank too much, went to Abby's argued with her, and passed out."

"What were the arguments about?"

"My random drug test came back positive for the sleeping pills. My friends found out, got concerned and confronted me, even though I am not over medicating, I am using the exact dosage prescribed."

"So you think they overreacted?"

"Yes."

"Were you trying to kill yourself of harm yourself?"

"No."

Writing.

"Were you having or have you recently had any thought of self injury or suicide?"

Carter paused, perhaps a little too long before responding, "No."

"You hesitated," DeRaad pointed out. "What were you thinking about just now?"

Carter thought again and then responded, "I was thinking that I have been depressed, hence the anti-depressants. With everything I've been through, everything I've lost recently, I never thought about killing myself. My mind never went to suicide." And that was true.

DeRaad wrote again. Then paused for what seemed to Carter like an eternity.

Finally he said, "We've talked about your drinking before. Do you feel it is problematic? And have you reduced your intake at all?"

The golden question.

"My friends asked me to quit. And I was pretty good for a couple of days until the argument. But I needed the sleeping pills to get any rest." He paused. "I am starting to accept that I might have the beginnings of a drinking problem. But I honestly think I can get it under control." These were his true thoughts.

They continued to talk, but in the end DeRaad said what Carter knew he would.

"I have to hold you for three days, John. Under these circumstances and because this is not our first visit together, I have no other choice."

Carter could do nothing but nod.

DeRaad saw the disappointment in Carter's face so he continued, "Listen, you OD'ed again. And although you may not have been trying to end your life, you are hurting your body and you are dangerously close to ruining your career. And I think you know it. I believe that you didn't actively try to kill yourself, but the fact is you are endangering your life. But I think my staff can help you so that you don't lose everything. You're friends are right with their concern and you know that too. For the next seventy-two hours I'll do whatever I can to help you. But you have to be completely cooperative and honest with me."

"Okay," Carter whispered.

DeRaad smiled and got up to leave, but before he exited to ready the transfer to upstairs, he asked, "One last thing. When was the last time you used narcotics?"

"A few years ago when I saw Paul Sobricki again."

"Nothing since then?"

"Nothing."

That was a lie.

* * *

_When I counted up my demons  
Saw there was one for every day  
With the good ones on my shoulders  
I drove the other ones away_

_So if you ever feel neglected  
And if you think that all is lost  
I'll be counting up my demons, yeah  
Hoping everything's not lost_

_When you thought that it was over  
You could feel it all around  
And everybody's out to get you  
Don't you let it drag you down_

_'Cos if you ever feel neglected  
And if you think that all is lost  
I'll be counting up my demons, yeah  
Hoping everything's not lost_

_If you ever feel neglected  
If you think that all is lost  
I'll be counting up my demons, yeah  
Hoping everything's not lost_

Song: "Everything's Not Lost" by Coldplay


	13. Chapter 13: Angel

**Chapter 13: Angel**

Abby entered the room hesitantly after she saw DeRaad leave. She saw the restraints hanging loosely from the bed rails and was glad Carter wasn't attached. His eyes were closed and he was under the blankets, but she knew he wasn't asleep. He looked too tense.

"Stop playing possum, Carter," she lightly joked.

In the same joking manner, Carter opened one eye, looked around the room, stopping on Abby, and opened the other.

"Hi," was all he could manage to say. He was ashamed of what he had done and what he had put her through yet again. But of course he and Abby knew this wasn't the end of his problems. Carter pushed himself up in more of a sitting position.

Abby sat down on the edge of the bed. She played with one of the limp restraints as she asked, "What happened?"

Carter was unsure if his friend meant what happened with DeRaad and Weaver, or what happened earlier at his and Abby's apartments. He decided it was safer to answer the former option.

"Because of my past and recent happenings, DeRaad is putting me on a suicide hold for the next three days. He says there's no getting out of it." Carter paused. "And I don't think Kerry is happy with me. But I'm sure she and you already spoke all about that."

"She wouldn't tell me anything…this time. Well, except that you threatened to sue her. Were you serious about that?" She was staring him in the eyes, wishing she could read his mind to know the truth about him.

Again he paused, this time again unsure how to answer. Finally he replied, "I don't know. No. I can't do that to her. She was just trying to help me."

Abby sighed in relief by his rationale, but then wondered why he was willing to "accept" Kerry's help, but not her own.

Carter continued, "You wouldn't believe how pissed Kerry was."

"I can imagine," she said and thought _Because I am too_ but she knew expressing her anger wouldn't help or change anything. "I know I've said this before, but honestly, Carter, we don't know how to help you, short of going back in time and changing everything that's happened to you."

He was staring at his hands and Abby knew this whole situation couldn't be helping his mental state.

She continued, "So they put you on a suicide hold?"

"Yeah." He looked up at his friend. "But I'm not suicidal, I swear."

"I know, I know," she quickly stated. "Just go with it and it will go by quickly. Do you want me to transfer you to another hospital…so that word doesn't spread about this?"

"Abby, you should know that by now everyone knows. Dr. Carter has a drinking problem and apparently is suicidal. Just try to keep the rumors to a minimum. And I really don't want any visitors after you leave."

"Okay. I can do that for you," she said sympathetically. She had a feeling she knew the answer to her next question, but she had to ask it anyway. "So just three days off?"

Carter smirked and looked back down at his hands. "You know better than that, Abby. That's just the beginning, and probably the easiest part. Besides group therapy. No, Kerry suspended me."

"For how long?"

"Two weeks, so far. And then thirty days working the program."

"Oh. You know, I can go to some of the meetings with you, if you want."

"No, I want to do this on my own."

"That's not the point of this, John."

He looked up at Abby. "I… Thanks, really. But right now I just want to be alone."

"Are you sure you'll be okay?"

He flinched a smile and replied, "No. I don't want to do this, Abby."

"I know."

He rubbed a hand over his face. "I need a cigarette."

"Maybe this will be a way to help you quit," she said. But to herself she thought _Both smoking and drinking_. "But they'll let you smoke up there if you have your own."

"Really?"

"Yup. Three smoke breaks a day; one after each meal. But seriously, Carter, this could be a good way to break the habit. Ask them to throw out your smokes and then they can't give you any unless you buy more."

"How do you know so much about this?"

"I remember it from my psych rotation." She paused. "Carter, I know you don't want to talk about this or admit it, but because you have been drinking so much, and now that you won't be for a few days—"

Carter sighed heavily and hung his head low. "I don't want to fight, Abby. I won't start fighting with you on this today. I have too much to deal with right now to think about this."

"I'm not trying to fight, John," he term of affection, "but even though," _if_ she thought, "you aren't an alcoholic, with your recent intake of it and now cold turkey for seventy-two hours, chances are you will suffer some withdrawal symptoms. I know. I've been there more than once."

Carter sighed again, this time looking up at his friend. Abby hadn't before noticed the dark circles and bright red rimmed eyes his face held. Not like this. It forced her to ask herself, _from fatigue or substance?_

Carter spoke, "I know. I am preparing for the worst. It's like a mini-Atlanta trip." He caught this implication so he continued, "but for the psyche and not drugs. I mean, I want a drink already, but I'm hoping that's just from anxiety."

He slouched back down in his hospital bed and put his head back on the pillow. His eyes closed.

"You're tired," Abby said. "I'll let you rest. Plus you said you didn't want visitors and I think I've overstayed my welcome. I'll go."

His eyes opened as she started to stand.

"No," he said. "Can you stay with me until they move me?" He looked to be on the verge of crying. Despite how Carter had treated her, she knew he was genuinely scared of the psych hold and so she couldn't bring herself to refuse.

"Okay," she responded as she say back down. Carter's body relaxed again. As much as it could. As his eyes closed Abby reached out and held his hand. His fingers curled around hers as if searching for safety.

Time passed slowly as Carter slept. At one point Kerry re-entered and in a hushed whisper insisted that Carter needed to be restrained again. As Abby argued with her, still holding Carter's hand, he woke but remained silent. He pulled his hand out of Abby's, which prompted her to stand and approach Kerry.

"Get out of his room," Abby firmly said. "Now."

"You can't talk to me like that, Abby."

Abby hissed, "He doesn't need this right now!"

Kerry looked at the whithered body of her young doctor. "I'm sorry. I'll...Come by for that meeting when you can, John."

Carter nodded. It was as if Kerry had kicked herself for her response to Carter. She smiled a sympathetic smile and left.

Abby sat back down and took Carter's hand again.

He responded, "Thank you," in a weak voice.

Abby just smiled and gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

Carter fell asleep again. This time Abby watched the clock. More than an hour passed before an orderly came in to move Carter. Abby rubbed his arm gently. "Carter. John," she said. His eyes fluttered open. "John, it's time for you to go upstairs."

He sat up and rubbed his eyes with his free hand, as Abby still held the other. "Already?" he sleepily asked.

"Yeah." She let go of his hand and stood.

Now the orderly spoke. "Dr. Carter, you need to lay back down and I need to put the restraints back on."

"Is that really necessary?" Abby interjected. "He won't do anything."

"Abby," Carter said, "I really don't want to fight anymore today. I just want to get this over with."

"Okay." She watched as Carter laid back down and the orderly attached the restraints. They, the orderly and Abby, wheeled him into the hallway and towards the elevator. As Abby tried to ignore her peering coworkers, she noticed that Carter's way of coping was to once again pretend to be asleep. Or maybe this time he truly was asleep.

Abby squeezed Carter's hand to revive him. She said, "Carter, I have to go now." The elevator doors opened and he was wheeled in. She continued, "I'll come up and see you tonight."

"No," his voice scratched, "please no visitors."

"But it's me-"

"Please." And the elevator doors closed.

Abby was shaken by this. Once again Carter managed to shock her. She stayed by his side, by his request, and now he was pushing her away again. But this time she wasn't upset or angry. She was just confused.

"What's going on?" came a voice from behind her.

Abby jumped, not realizing that anyone had been standing there. "Susan," she exhaled, "You startled me."

"Seriously, Abby, what's happening here? Why was Carter restrained on that gurney?"

"You've missed a lot." Abby started walking down the hall, trying to shake the adrenaline that wouldn't leave her body. She hoped that Susan wouldn't follow her, but Abby knew that she would. Abby kept walking.

"Abby, wait!" Susan ran up to her and gently grabbed Abby's arm to stop her. "Please tell me."

"I really shouldn't." She sat in one of the hallway chairs. "I got in trouble last time I said anything."

"Is Carter in trouble again?"

Abby sighed, rubbed her eyes and thought, _It happened in my home. I'm not his doctor. I'm not breaking any doctor / patient confidentiality. Just friend confidentiality._

"Please," she heard Susan beg.

"Fine." She stood and started pacing in front of Susan. "John OD'ed in my apartment and now they have him on a psych hold."

"Wait. Was he trying to kill himself?"

"I don't think so." She paused. "No, he wasn't. He was just dumb and mixed pills with alcohol."

"So he's using again?"

Abby sat back down. "I don't know. These pills were legit and not narcotics." _Now I'm starting to sound like him_. "It was just a bad combination."

Susan sighed. "God, Carter," she said to the absent man. Then to Abby, "Will he be okay?"

"Physically, yes. I still don't know what's going on in his head."

Pratt knew something was going on the minute he set foot in the hospital. The entire building just felt tense. So he went to the admit desk. They always knew the latest gossip.

"Hey, what's going on around here today?" he asked.

Frank looked in either direction and whispered, "Abby just brought Carter in on an ambulance."

Somehow Pratt knew it dealt with Carter.

Frank continued, "He OD'ed. He's okay now, but they just transferred him."

"Where?"

"Psych, I'm guessing. With all that he's been through I'm not surprised he fell off the deep end."

Haleh had overheard this and smacked Frank upside the head. "Don't talk about him like that."

"Do you think I'm wrong?"

Haleh was silent. She looked down at the floor and then looked up at the men. Finally she responded, "It's not our place to judge. We shouldn't even be talking about this." And she walked away.

Pratt looked back at Frank and asked, "What did he take?"

"I don't know. Booze with pills probably."

"Why do you say that?"

"OD cocktail. It's just a guess. I don't know any specifics. Abby might."

"Thanks, Frank." He walked away from admit in search of Abby, and found her in the hallway talking to Susan.

"We need to tell Kerry," he said.

Susan, confused, asked, "Tell Kerry what?"

Abby didn't want to involve Susan into what she knew Pratt was referring to. She responded, "It's not necessary, Pratt."

Susan looked at Abby, still confused, as Pratt continued, "Considering today-"

"Stop it, Pratt," Abby hissed. She stood up and walked away, knowing she would lead Pratt away from Susan. Susan didn't need to know any of this.

"Abby," Pratt said, "Dr. Lockhart, stop."

She spun around, focusing on Pratt. "No, you stop, Greg. There is nothing that needs to be said here."

"Yes there is. I gave him drugs. And now he OD'ed. It's not a coincidence."

"It's not the same thing! He didn't fill your script. And there were no narcotics involved today. Telling Kerry won't change anything. Carter is getting help."

"Fine. He's getting help. But it is help for OD'ing and she needs to know about what almost happened with my script."

"What's going on here?"

Both doctors stopped and turned to Kerry, who had come up behind them. Kerry continued, "What did I hear about a script?"

Abby quickly responded, "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing!" Pratt interjected. "I prescribed pain meds to Carter." Weaver's eyes grew wide and Abby's head dropped.

Kerry asked, "Did he ask you for them?"

"No. His back needed to be checked out after a fall. He was in pain so I offered him drugs, not knowing then about his... problem. But he refused at first."

"But he did take them?"

Now Abby jumped in. "He took the script but never had it filled."

"How do you know?"

Pratt replied, "When I found out about his history he gave me the script back and I tore it up."

Kerry paused. Finally she looked at Abby and with a look of disgust said, "You knew about this? And you didn't tell me?"

She knew her response would be a lie, but felt the need to protect Carter, Pratt and herself. "I honestly thought he would be okay since he hadn't taken anything-"

"Well, obviously you thought wrong," Kerry responded. She lowered her voice, "as he is in a psych ward for mixing meds! Why are you, of all people, making excuses for him?"

"I was wrong, okay? I was just trying to help him."

"Little good that did. You know what? I don't want to hear it right now. I have Carter's current situation to deal with and now this?" She paused. "I am so disappointed in you. Both of you." She paused again. "You are both suspended for two shifts-"

"What?!" Pratt protested. "Abby said he'd be okay."

"And you are a doctor. You should have known better." She looked at Abby. "I don't want you to get any more involved with this. Understood? God, Abby. This could have killed him. What were you thinking?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry."

"Both of you, out now. I don't even want to look at you." And Kerry walked away.

Abby heard Pratt retreat as well, not saying any more to her. After standing in place for a few moments, Abby gathered her things from her locker and left.

* * *

_Heaven bend to take my hand  
And lead me through the fire  
Be the long awaited answer  
To a long and painful fight_

_Truth be told I've tried my best  
But somewhere along the way  
I got caught up in all there was to offer  
And the cost was so much more than I could bear_

_Though I've tried, I've fallen...  
I have sunk so low  
I messed up  
Better I should know  
So don't come round here  
And tell me I told you so..._

_We all begin with good intent  
Love was raw and young  
We believed that we could change ourselves  
The past could be undone  
But we carry on our backs the burden  
Time always reveals  
In the lonely light of morning  
In the wound that would not heal  
It's the bitter taste of losing everything  
That I've held so dear._

_I've fallen...  
I have sunk so low  
I messed up  
Better I should know  
So don't come round here  
And tell me I told you so..._

_Heaven bend to take my hand  
Nowhere left to turn  
I'm lost to those I thought were friends  
To everyone I know  
Oh they turn their heads embarrassed  
Pretend that they don't see  
But it's one missed step  
One slip before you know it  
And there doesn't seem a way to be redeemed_

_Though I've tried, I've fallen...  
I have sunk so low  
I messed up  
Better I should know  
So don't come round here  
And tell me I told you so... _

Song: "Fallen" by Sarah McLachlan


	14. Chapter 14: CheckIn

_So, this is kind of a filler chapter, I guess. I have the next chapter almost done too, but that is because this one and that one were going to be combined but were getting too long. There is a lot left in this story and something big will happen at the end of Chapter 15 or 16 (depending on if I have to break one chapter into two again). And then it should really pick up. But be patient; school is getting intense. Please, please please (!) review. :-) DMJ_**  
**

* * *

**Chapter 14: Check-In  
**

The elevator doors opened on the psych ward and the orderly pushed Carter's gurney into the hall. Carter had been there many times before, but never on this side. Things looked different rolling down the corridor. His muscles tensed and he had to concentrate hard to control his breathing. The last thing he wanted to do was alarm the staff by hyperventilating. Still, the anxiety rushed through him.

He felt the gurney turn a corner and stop. They were in a room. He felt the restraints being removed from his ankles and wrists, and heard the side rail slide down.

The orderly said to him, "Okay, you can move over to the bed." But Carter didn't move. The orderly continued, "Dr. Carter? Can you move over for me?" Still Carter made no move. He was lost in his thoughts of what he had gotten himself into. Once again the orderly spoke, "Dr. Carter, do I need to get someone to help me move you?"

Carter shook out of his thoughts and replied, "Sorry; no; I'm fine." He sat upright and slowly moved over to the other bed. He just then realized that it was an examination bed and that he was in an exam room. He sat down on the bed and leaned back.

"Good," said the orderly. "A nurse will be in here in a few minutes to give your physical."

"I don't need one. I just had one six months ago."

"Sorry, that's not my call. Just relax and wait for the nurse." And he closed the door behind him.

Carter stood back up and slowly walked around the room. No equipment was in the open, of course, not even cotton swabs. Everything was locked in heavy metal cabinets, attached to the floor and walls. As he continued his round, he found himself at the door. Being new to this experience he didn't know what to expect. Sure, being a doctor he had done his psych rotation. But that was years ago. And this was different. He reached out and grabbed the doorknob. He tried to turn it but of course it was locked. Carter wasn't surprised that they locked him in there before determining if he needed to be drugged into a haze before having to deal with him in the halls of the ward.

As Carter thought about this, the knob turned from the outside and the door pushed in. Carter jumped back, startled, but realized it was just DeRaad.

The shrink closed the door behind himself and asked, "Trying to escape?"

"No, just thinking."

DeRaad motioned Carter to go back to the bed. He pulled a stool up as the trauma doc settled himself. DeRaad asked, "Thinking about what?"

Carter dodged this question with a sudden realization. "Why are you here and not a nurse?"

"I figured you'd be more comfortable. Would you prefer a nurse?"

"I'd prefer no preferential treatment." Carter looked DeRaad straight in the eyes. "I'm being forced to be here and if the higher-ups find out I got special treatment, this stint won't mean anything to them."

"Okay, no special treatment," DeRaad replied. "But is this all just a stint to you?"

"Let's keep the psychology in the therapy sessions, and just do the physical now."

DeRaad ignored this and continued, "Because if the higher-ups find out that this is just an unimportant stint to you, they won't be pleased about that either."

Carter continued his icy stare. "Physical. Now."

"Dr. Carter, if you don't want special treatment you don't get to tell me how I run this. Understood?"

"Yeah." Carter paused. "Carl, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. This isn't exactly the most desirable situation for you. So let's just start fresh with the physical. I'm already here so I'll just do it. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good." DeRaad flipped open Carter's chart, examined it for a moment and then continued, "So you had a physical not too long ago?"

"Yeah."

"Any new family history?"

"No."

"Do you smoke?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Your chart says that you don't. So either you lied six months ago or you just started."

DeRaad looked up at Carter the way only a psychiatrist could. Carter knew he was being evaluated. "I started again recently."

"Again?"

"Yeah. I smoked for a little while but quit after Atlanta."

"How much do you smoke now?"

"On average… I'd say maybe a pack a day. Sometimes more, sometimes less." Carter rubbed the back of his neck in his anxious way.

DeRaad scribbled something down and continued, "Any attempt to quit?"

"With the kind of stress level I've had recently, there's no point trying."

"What kind of stress? Work?"

Carter looked at DeRaad as if he was an idiot. "No, being harped on by everyone creates a lot of stress."

DeRaad ignored this and continued. "I don't think I have to ask if you drink, considering the circumstances, but on average how much do you drink?"

"I don't know." Carter looked down, a sign DeRaad interpreted as shame.

"Take a guess." DeRaad waited.

Carter signed and looked up. "Anywhere from two to twenty drinks at a time. Maybe more some days."

The shrink's eyebrows rose. "Twenty drinks or more? That's a pretty full binge."

"It's not that much. And it's not really a binge."

"Then what would you call it?"

Carter avoided this question and instead said, "It's usually more like two to ten drinks, I guess."

DeRaad got the hint and stopped asking the drinking questions. "Okay, we'll continue about that at a later time." He stood. "Let me take your weight and blood pressure and then a nurse will help you settle in. Hop up on the scale for me."

Carter did as he was told. DeRaad fiddled with the weights on the scale before they leveled. He read aloud, "154." He wrote this in the chart and continued, "You're getting pretty thin, John."

Carter did not reply but instead got off the scale and got back on the bed.

Ad DeRaad took Carter's BP, he pressed on with the weight issue. "You've lost 17 pounds in six months."

"I know."

"You probably shouldn't do that anymore."

"17 pounds in six months isn't all that drastic. It's less than a pound a week."

"I don't need to hear justifications right now, John. I'm just letting you know that you were pretty thin before. You don't need to lose weight." He wrote the blood pressure on the chart and both men sat back.

Carter responded, "I wasn't actively trying to lose any. Next you'll think I have an eating disorder."

"Do you?"

"No!" Carter was getting flustered. "I was in Africa! Being there was a bit of a workout." He rolled his head back and sighed _I know I don't have an eating disorder so why am I trying to fight with him about it?_ Then out loud he asked, "What was my BP?"

"140 over 85. A little high, but since you don't have a history of high blood pressure I would just attribute it to nerves from being up here. I see it a lot. Okay, you're all done here."

"That was a short physical."

"Well, like you said, you had a physical six months ago. Plus we have all your blood work from the ER." DeRaad stood back up and motioned for Carter to stand too. They walked out to the hall and DeRaad continued, "Being a doctor here you obviously don't need the grand tour. I'm sure you are familiar with the ward."

"Yeah. Um, are any of my patients up here?"

"I checked already. There is no record of you seeing any of these people. Also, the nurses know to refer to you as John instead of Dr. Carter. There's no reason to reveal that to anyone." They made their way to the nurses' station.

"John," DeRaad said, "this is Nurse Roberts. She'll be in charge of overseeing your case." Carter shook her hand. Nurse Roberts was a large black woman who looked like she wanted to be there no more than Carter.

"Okay." DeRaad patted Carter's back and handed the chart to the nurse. "I'll let you get settled in. It's late… or early, rather. Get some sleep and I'll see you sometime tomorrow." And he left.

Carter looked back at Roberts and asked, "So, where is my room?"

"First we have to go through some ground rules."

"I know the drill—"

"Listen, I have to go through everything with every patient. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." Carter felt like a child.

"Being the middle of the night, everyone is still asleep." Roberts started as they walked to a couch. "They will be getting up in a few hours. You have to get up with them, so let's make this quick so you can get some sleep. Here is the daily schedule. It doesn't change." She handed him a sheet of paper. "We'll wake you at 7:30 for an 8:00 breakfast. With meals, we check how much you eat or don't eat. It get's put in your chart. You can read that paper to see the rest of the schedule.

"You are required to stay in the common areas when you're not sleeping. These include this sitting area, the meal room, and the activity room. In addition, I will check on you three times a day, asking you, 'are you having any suicidal thoughts or do you want to harm yourself or others?'."

"And this is when I answer 'no'?" Carter sarcastically asked.

"Just answer honestly."

"Okay, then it's still a no."

"Two more things and then I'll let you sleep. First, your personal items, wallet, belt, etc, are in our closet. We took out your cigarettes. You can have one after every meal, two if the nurse watching you feels generous. And lastly, you are expected to participate in group therapy at every session. Failure to do so will be marked in your chart."

"So pretty much everything I do will be marked in my chart?"

"Pretty much. So be careful, Big Brother is always watching." Roberts stood and Carter followed. "You're lucky, though. With you here we now have an odd number of patients do you get your own room for the time being. Someone could always be admitted, though, so keep to your side of the room." They stopped in front of a closed door. "Here you are. Do you have any questions?"

"Just one. Can I have a cigarette now? I haven't had one in hours." Carter could feel the nicotine cravings travel up his spine. They say nicotine addiction is stronger than heroin addiction. Right at this moment Carter could believe it. Maybe it was nerves that needed to be settled, but this need felt worse than any other need he had ever had… with the exception of one, maybe.

Roberts shook him out of this daze by replying, "You are only supposed to smoke after meals."

"Come on. It has been such a long day for me," Carter pleaded.

"I'm sorry but I can't allow that. Is there anything else?"

Carter rubbed his hand over his face in dismay. Suddenly a rush of panic washed over him as he felt the need for not only a smoke but also a drink. He pushed those thoughts away and tried to focus on the matter at hand. "No, nothing else," he responded. "Wait. Um, could I get a set of scrubs?"

"Sure thing." Nurse Roberts walked away, knowing that Carter was hurting for something, but didn't believe that it was only a cigarette. While she was away, Carter entered his room. It was small, but he had expected this. There was just enough room to fit in two beds, two dressers, and a door to the bathroom. Roberts entered after him and placed three sets of scrubs on the nearest bed. She said, "There are some toiletries in the bathroom. The mirror is behind plexi-glass so don't try to break it."

Carter sat down on a bed and, resting his arms on his legs and lowering his head, he felt the need to emphasize, "I'm not suicidal." The urges were hurting him more and he once again felt on the verge of hyperventilating. Putting his head between his legs did little to help, but Roberts did notice his behavior.

"What's wrong?" she asked. She knelt beside him and took and timed his pulse. His breathing had picked up speed and he could no longer hide it. "Put your head down further."

"It's nothing, I'm just…" He took a deep breath in to help control it. "It's nothing. I'm fine." His breathing slowed, and Roberts felt that his heart rate had too. He raised his head and continued to take deep breaths. "I'm just a little overwhelmed right now."

"That's understandable. I can give you something to calm down."

"No, I don't want any drugs right now."

"Okay. Do you need anything else?" Carter noticed that her tone had softened. What was it? Pity? Sympathy? Empathy?

"Just no visitors. I really don't want to see anyone while I'm here."

"No co-workers or family?"

"No one."

"Okay, John. Get some rest. I'll wake you at 7:30. Goodnight." And Roberts closed the door.

Carter laid back on the bed and suddenly exhaustion swept over him. He changed into his scrubs, and, walking to the door, hoped there would be a lock. Of course there wasn't. He laid back down on the bed and fell asleep before even getting under the covers. Without the chemical aid he had gotten used to, his sleep was fitful and riddled with nightmares. He gave up around 6:30, knowing at most he could only get an hour more 'rest'.

After a quick shower, Carter put his scrubs back on and left his room. Nurse Roberts was already at the desk. Apparently this was a 24 hour shift for her, before going home.

As he approached the desk she said, "You're the first one up. I thought I'd have to drag you out considering when you came in last night."

"Yeah," his voice was scratchy, "I couldn't sleep."

"We can give you something for that tonight. Ativan."

"No, I don't need Ativan."

"But you do need sleep."

"Ativan is for anxiety. I don't suffer from anxiety so I don't need Ativan."

"You seemed to be suffering from it last night," Nurse Roberts said as she pulled a chart out at the counter and scribbled something down.

"What are you writing?" Carter asked. "Did you just write that I am refusing Ativan?" He reached for the chart but Roberts pulled back.

"John, you do not get to see your chart. This is for doctors only."

"Carter hissed, "Don't talk to me like I'm a child. And I _am_ a doctor."

"Up here you're not. And you know that. Are you sure you don't want Ativan or some aid tonight?"

"Of course I'm sure." Carter relaxed and leaned against the counter. "Please can I see the chart?"

"No," Roberts sternly replied. "But since I have you here, are you having any suicidal thoughts?"

"No."

"Do you want to harm yourself or others?"

"Do I have to choose between the two?" Carter poorly joked.

"Just answer the question honestly."

"I'm fine and I have been fine," Carter harshly responded.

"John, this is going to be a miserable few days for all of us if you keep acting like this. I know you don't want to be here; but guess what? You're here. I have no control over it so being rude to me won't change anything."

Carter realized she was right. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just a little cranky." He lowered his eyes to the floor.

"Perhaps from not getting enough sleep."

He raised his eyes to the nurse. "No Ativan." And he walked away to wait in his room until 7:30.

As Carter retreated, Nurse Roberts returned to his chart and continued to write.

* * *

_Sometimes I try to do things and it just doesn't work out the way I wanted to.  
I get real frustrated and I try hard to do it and I take my time and it doesn't work out the way I wanted to.  
It's like I concentrate real hard and it doesn't work out  
Everything I do and everything I try never turns out  
It's like I need time to figure these things out  
But there's always someone there going_

_Hey Mike:  
You know we've been noticing you've been having a lot of problems lately.  
You know, maybe you should get away and maybe you should talk about it, maybe you'll feel a lot better_

_And I go:  
No it's okay, you know I'll figure it out, just leave me alone I'll figure it out. You know I'll just work by myself._

_And they go:  
Well you know if you want to talk about it I'll be here you know and you'll probably feel a lot better if you talk about it._

_And I go:  
No I don't want to I'm okay, I'll figure it out myself and they just keep bugging me and they just keep bugging me and it builds up inside and it builds up inside._

_So you're gonna be institutionalized  
You'll come out brainwashed with bloodshot eyes  
You won't have any say  
They'll brainwash you until you see their way._

_I'm not crazy - institutionalized  
You're the one who's crazy - institutionalized  
You're driving me crazy - institutionalized_

_They stuck me in an institution  
Said it was the only solution  
To give me the needed professional help  
To protect me from the enemy, myself  
_

Song lyrics excerpt: "Institutionalized" by Suicidal Tendencies


	15. Chapter 15: A Visitor and Some Vomit

_Ok, here is another chapter for all my loyal supporters. These chapters are seeming to be a bit long. Oh, well. I am hoping to have another chapter up in a week or so... let's see if that happens. R &R, please! And enjoy! DMJ_

* * *

**Chapter 15: A Visitor and Some Vomit**

The day progressed slowly and Carter feared all three of his days on the psych hold would be the same. He ate as much of his breakfast as he could force down, but still nearly half of it was left. As he watched Roberts jotting down in his chart yet again, another patient, a college-aged girl, approached him.

"Isn't that a pain?" she asked, gesturing to the nurses checking the labeled food trays.

"It's their job," Carter responded.

"Come on," the girl said as she led Carter into the sitting area. Once they were seated she continued, "I just can't stand watching them pick through the trays."

"Why's that?" The girl simply shrugged. Carter knew there was a reason for this answer and he was interested to find out what it was. After all, he had always had a knack for talking to patients. "I'm John." He extended his hand.

She shook it and replied, "Dominica."

"Nice to meet you, Dominica. That's a lovely name."

She made a confused look before saying, "Don't you think you're a little old to be hitting on me?"

Carter laughed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit on you. But, ouch. I'm not that old."

"Whatever you say, grandpa."

Carter just shook his head and smiled. There was a silence between them and patients slowly filled the sitting area, with no where else to go. Currently in the ward there were about twenty-five patients, yet somehow Carter felt that he looked the most lost out of all of them.

A nurse came into the room and announced that it was time for their first allotted smoke break of the day.

"Thank God," Carter said out loud as he nearly jumped out of his chair. He was surprised, though, that only five other patients went along with him out to the enclosed porch, one of which was Dominica.

Once the cigarettes were dispersed and the accompanying nurse lit them for everyone, Dominica walked back over to Carter. In a matter of fact way she joked, "You know, smoking's bad for you."

"Ha! Should you really be lecturing _me_?" he gestured to her cigarette with his own. "I guess I should know better considering what I do." He internally kicked himself for saying that. He didn't want anyone to know he was a doctor. And he knew Dominica would ask the question he didn't want to answer.

And she did. "What do you do?"

He thought quickly. "I'm a high school teacher." It was the same lie he had used on the plane home from Atlanta.

"Ah. Yeah, I guess we should all know better considering all the warnings that are out there."

An awkward pause passed between them before Dominica continued, "So, why are you here, John?"

Carter took a drag on his cigarette and held the smoke to stall. Finally he said, "Wouldn't you rather wait for the long, dramatic story in group?"

"Nah. It's more fun if I am the first to know."

Carter sighed, "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

She thought about this. "Okay."

He was surprised she had agreed. He started, "It's actually all a mistake. I accidentally mixed meds with too much alcohol and OD'ed. But because I had been acting depressed recently, my co-workers thought it was attempted suicide."

"Why have you been depressed?"

"That's for group. Your turn."

She sighed. "My parents think I have an eating disorder. That's it, short and sweet."

It wasn't until then that Carter realized just how thin she was... and that they were the last two patients smoking with an impatient nurse watching them. Carter took one last drag and stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray.

"Maybe we should go back in."

As they started walking, another nurse popped his head out the door and said, "John, you have a visitor. You guys can stay out here and talk."

This stopped Carter in his tracks. As Dominica walked quickly inside, knowing to get out of the way by the look on Carter's face, Carter responded to the nurse, "I specifically said no visitors. It's not even visiting hours!" He turned away from the door, but then he heard the voice.

"This isn't exactly a social visit, Carter."

Carter turned around and saw exactly who it was. Anspaugh.

The surgeon turned to the "cigarette-nurse" and said, "You can go in."

"Yes, sir." She started walking in.

"Wait," Carter stopped her, "I think I'll need another smoke for this."

She rolled her eyes the same time Carter heard Anspaugh sigh in what could only be described as disgust. Still, the nurse pulled out one of his cigarettes, lit it and left.

Carter inhaled and, through a cloud of smoke that he knew would not please the surgeon, asked, "What are you doing up here?"

Anspaugh sat in one of the porch's plastic chairs and motioned for Carter to do the same. He did.

"I wanted to see how you're doing."

"I haven't been here all that long."

"I know. I meant in general."

"Kerry didn't fill you in on everything?" he asked flippantly and took a drag.

"She did, but I wanted to hear it from you."

Carter sighed, not wanting to talk. He took another drag and looked away. He didn't return the eye contact that he knew Anspaugh wanted. Even though he felt nothing was wrong he still felt ashamed to have to explain anything to Anspaugh. Finally he replied, "This was all blown out of proportion. I didn't try to kill myself. My tests show that I've not taken any narcotics. There is no reason for me to be on a psych hold."

"What about your drinking? In the past few weeks, what's the longest you've gone without a drink?"

Carter knew what Anspaugh was getting at but still replied, "That's not an issue-"

"It is obviously interfering with your work-"

Bolting up, Carter shouted, "No it has not!"

Anspaugh paused before calmly continuing, "Then why aren't you at work right now?"

Carter was furious. "Because you and Kerry put me here!"

"No, Carter. It's because you mixed pills and alcohol, whether it was a suicide attempt or not. Sit down, John." Carter did and he remained silent as Anspaugh continued, "The hospital needs to know if you need treatment for alcoholism. Are you having any withdrawal symptoms?"

"No." He forced himself to forget about the cravings he had the night before.

Anspaugh was skeptical about this, but still he said, "Okay. Let's hope it stays that way."

"Are we done?" Carter was tired of this. He didn't care that he was talking to the chief, he just wanted this conversation and all the accusations to stop. He took a drag on his cigarette and put it out.

"No." Anspaugh stared straight into Carter's eyes, eyes that were no longer full of life, but which had gone completely empty. Eyes that were on the verge of looking dead. "I want to believe you, Carter. I truly do. But your actions are making this hard for all of us. Just... Just get through this and then we'll meet." He stood. "We all know that you don't want to be here. Hell, we don't even _want_ you to be here. But as I'm sure Kerry and Dr. DeRaad told you already, you didn't leave us much of a choice. You overdosed and we can't let incidents like that be ignored."

"I know." He did understand their reasoning. They had a hospital to run. They more he thought, the more he know that he left them with no choice at all. "I'm sorry for yelling at you, Dr. Anspaugh." Carter stood to eye level with the surgeon. "I... It's just been a long couple of days."

As they went to the door and walked inside Anspaugh responded, "I know. Take advantage of the time off. Get some rest. Clear your head. And I will see you in a couple of days." They shook hands and Anspaugh left the ward. As Carter watched him leave, he could only think, _It's only three days, then life can get back to normal_.

He quickly walked back to his room, ignoring the nurse that was telling him it was time for group. Instead he rushed into his bathroom and vomited. He knelt there and worshiped the porcelain god, not noticing that Nurse Roberts had entered his bathroom.

"John," she said, "The other nurse told me you are refusing group. You can't expect to get out of here quickly if you act like this."

She heard him retch, which prompted her to enter the bathroom.

Carter spit into the toilet and then said, "Please leave."

"Would you like me to call a doctor?"

"No. I'm not ill. My stomach just is upset. I think I ate too much." He wiped his face on toilet paper and sat back.

"John, you hardly ate." She crouched down. "I need to know if this is withdrawal or DT's."

"It's not." He stood up.

"Okay, then do you want Ativan to settle your stomach?"

"No. I don't want any Ativan!" He paused and leaned against the wall. "Just give me some Benadryl."

"You can ask Dr. DeRaad for that. You are set to meet with him after you finish group today."

"Fine." Carter rinsed out his mouth and walked past Roberts, to group, telling himself, _It's just the food, _but he knew it wasn't.

* * *

_She said I feel stranded  
And I can't tell anymore  
If I'm coming or I'm going  
It's not how I planned it  
I've got a key to the door  
But it just won't open_

_And I know, I know, I know  
Part of me says let it go  
That life happens for a reason  
I don't, I don't, I don't  
Because it never worked before  
But this time, this time_

_I'm gonna try anything to just feel better  
Tell me what to do  
You know I can't see through the haze around me  
And I do anything to just feel better_

_And I can't find my way  
Girl I need a change  
And I do anything to just feel better  
Any little thing that just feel better_

_She said I need you to hold me  
I'm a little far from the shore  
And I'm afraid of sinking  
You're the only one who knows me  
And who doesn't ignore  
That my soul is weeping  
_

Song lyrics excerpt: "Just Feel Better" by Santana, featuring Steven Tyler


	16. Chapter 16: Ativan

_Okay, so this is a really long chapter but totally worth reading till the end. It holds an important cliff-hanger. :-) I haven't done the next chapter, but no worries, one will be coming soon... Enjoy!  
DMJ_

* * *

**Chapter 16: Ativan**

Carter walked into group therapy, dreading the upcoming experience. He spotted Dominica and she waved him over.

"I saved you a seat," she whispered. "You haven't missed much of the show."

"Thanks," Carter said as he sat.

Carter looked away from her, to the doctor and was surprised that it was DeRaad running today's session. But Carter was more surprised that DeRaad was observing Carter more than the patient sharing. When the shrink broke his gaze to pose a question to the patient, it was then that Carter realized the patient next to him was speaking. That meant either he, Carter, would go next or last. "Please be last," Carter thought as he felt his heart race.

His prayers were answered and the sharing revolved away from him. It appeared that only half of the group was present at today's session, probably for time purposes. Carter tried to listen to the other patients so that it appeared he was making an attempt, but he found his mind wandering off into daydreams. He was able to grasp background from at least some patients. Their ailments ranged anywhere from depression and attempted suicide, to drug addiction, severe OCD, to various personality disorders. But Carter didn't interact. He felt too out of place and unfamiliar to be able to comment on these strangers.

It was almost his turn to talk. But first was Dominica. Carter paid closer attention as she spoke.

"I'm Dominica. Most of you know that today is my third day here. Hopefully I'll go home soon. But I am here for anorexia… supposed anorexia. My family thinks that because I lost some weight that I'm ill. I guess I don't have a great diet, but I do eat. It's just hard to find time when you go to school and work to pay for school."

DeRaad spoke, "Try not to make excuses or justifications."

"Okay, sorry."

"Does your major have any impact on your situation?"

Dominica looked at Carter and said, "I'm a painting major so everyone thinks that explains any abnormal behavior—"

"To the group, Dominica," DeRaad interrupted.

She sighed and looked back in the circle of chairs. "No. Being an artist doesn't make you unstable. And it certainly does not give people eating disorders. But being in school does put a lot of stress on a person's body." She sighed again. "I used to be a size 0 and looked healthy. I got up to a size 10. I just want to get back to how I looked before. I'm at a 2 now and people tell me I look sick. How is that? I've been skinnier before! But I sometimes see it too. But I'm sick of people thinking I chose this by being an art major. No one wants to be locked up." She shook her head in disgust. "Okay, I'm done talking." Carter saw a tear slide down Dominica's cheek. He knew how she felt: lost, alone, and vulnerable. And it was now his turn to talk.

"John," DeRaad shook Carter out of his daze, "Please share with the group."

Carter cleared his throat and began, "I'm John, and, well, I'm new to this." His heart was racing and he could feel sweat on his brow. He didn't want to give out too much personal information and luckily he was confident DeRaad knew Carter's limits. So Carter explained the OD and that this was the reason why he was in the psych ward.

Once Carter had stopped, DeRaad said, "John, tell us a little more about your past. For example, why you were taking medicine or why your co-workers would have cause for alarm."

Inside Carter's head screamed _WHAT!?_ But outside Carter calmly, but sternly asked, "What?"

"Just what you feel comfortable about."

Carter sighed and closed his eyes as he continued. "My son died. He was still-born. And his mother left me." Carter opened his eyes and could only look at DeRaad as he continued, "I was understandably depressed. So I took up drinking. I ended up drunk at work a couple times. I ended up with alcohol poisoning. My co-workers had reason for concern." Carter looked down at the floor.

DeRaad pushed, "Explain."

Carter returned his gaze, but now it was an icy stare. "I'm a recovering drug addict." He glanced at Dominica and noticed her brows were furrowed. "I was attacked a few years ago. Stabbed in the back twice. And I got hooked on pain killers. I got treatment but now they are worried. And they think the OD was a suicide attempt. But it wasn't. That's my story." Carter stopped talking and crossed his arms to indicate that he was done.

"Okay," DeRaad said, "Good session everyone." The patients started filing our after DeRaad, but Carter and Dominica stayed behind.

Dominica initiated the conversation, "That was intense. I'm sorry about your son."

"I'd rather not talk about it anymore today," Carter replied. He was withdrawn and he know it. But he didn't care.

Dominica changed the subject, "Who was that visitor?"

"Um," Carter shook himself out of his trance. "He's the chief of surgery here."

"Oh. Why did he want to see you? Do you need surgery or something?"

"No," Carter chuckled. "He's just an old family friend," he lied. Well, technically Anspaugh was a sort of friend.

Dominica continued, "So… You're a drug addict?"

It was then that DeRaad re-entered the room. "John, you and I have a meeting. Come on."

Dominica touched his hand and said, "Good luck. He's a rough one." Carter smiled and thought _If only she knew _before following DeRaad into his office. They both sat, the shrink at his desk, Carter in front.

DeRaad started, "What's going on, John?"

"What do you mean?"

The shrink flipped open a chart and started reading. "Refusing Ativan, aggression to nurses more than once, shouting, dispute with visitor, vomiting, not eating." He looked at Carter. "You've only been here half a day."

"What van I say? Roberts and I don't click."

"You know what withdrawal feels like, and I think you know that you are going through it again."

"You mean caffeine withdrawal?" Carter dryly joked.

"This isn't a laughing matter. If you go through full DT's, I am responsible if anything happens to you. We need to address this situation."

"No Ativan. Nothing except Benadryl at night to help me with the nausea... and to help me sleep."

"Why are you so adamant on not taking Ativan?" DeRaad's face expressed concern and he certainly was taking this seriously.

Carter was oblivious to this as he responded, "Ativan has a risk of dependency."

"So do the sleeping pills you were taking."

"But I wasn't over medicating with those," Carter interjected.

DeRaad leaned back. "So it's not because of the risk it has when you mix it with alcohol?"

"Well, there's that too."

"Don't worry. You won't get Ativan because I don't trust you not to drink. So I will give you Benadryl for now, but I recommend using it only until the nausea stops."

Carter sighed in relief.

DeRaad continued, "However, if the withdrawal continues I will recommend to your supervisors that you be placed in an in patient or out patient alcohol rehab."

"I'm not going through withdrawal!"

"John, you're sweating, shaking and nauseous. Don't lie."

Carter wiped his brow, clasped his hands, and didn't respond in defeat.

DeRaad again continued, "Now the next matter of business. What are your thoughts on the anti-depressant you've been taking?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I don't think they are right for you, and I think you know why."

Carter didn't respond, but knew what was coming.

DeRaad looked in the chart, although he didn't need to. "You've been taking Alprazolam, which as a doctor you should know can be fatal when mixed with alcohol."

Carter hung his head.

DeRaad went on, "This makes me suspicious as to why you were mixing this medicine with alcohol _and_ sleeping pills."

"I'm not suicidal."

"Okay," DeRaad paused. "Then you're pretty damn careless. I want to start you on Citalopram, which is more tolerant with the alcohol you drink-"

"Why are you being so cynical today? Isn't it your job to encourage me to heal?"

"I still don't believe you're taking this seriously."

Carter laughed. "Maybe that's because I'm here for something I never did!"

"Okay, we're done." DeRaad stood.

"That's it?" Carter was confused.

"I'm not going to waste my time if you don't see a problem. I have patients who realize they need help. Just do the program and you'll be out of here in a few days with less than satisfactory marks to your supervisors." DeRaad opened the door and motioned for Carter to leave.

But Carter didn't stand. He didn't even turn around. Instead he said, "Carl, I want to talk."

DeRaad closed the door and sat back down, waiting for Carter to continue.

"I wasn't trying to kill myself. I was just angry and being an idiot. And I went too far. I mean, I know I've been drinking a lot. And I want that to stop before it gets too serious."

"You don't think it hasn't already?"

"I don't think I'm an alcoholic."

"Even though you're going through withdrawal symptoms?"

Carter wiped his brow again and found that it had dried. "I don't know. I just want you to know this isn't as big of a joke to me as you seem to think it is. It's just frustrating when I have to be here and we both know it wasn't attempted suicide."

DeRaad paused. "Have you talked to your girlfriend recently?"

"You mean ex-girlfriend? Not since she told me she was leaving. But she left a lot of stuff behind so I keep hoping that means she's coming back." Carter watched DeRaad as DeRaad watched Carter. The younger doctor knew he was being analyzed and hated it. So he said, "I don't know the healthy way to mourn. My son is dead and my support left me. I'm just trying to get over this hurdle."

"Okay, here's what I propose: I'll give you Benadryl for just tonight. You need to get your body to sleep on its own. And I'll put you on 20mg of Citalopram and contact your psychiatrist, Dr. Ashtor, about that.. As for non-medical treatment, I'm serious about the alcohol rehab. If your symptoms increase I will highly recommend that opposed to just AA/NA. Besides your psychiatrist, do you have a counselor that you go to regularly?"

"No."

"I also highly recommend getting one of those. You need to start talking through these issues. It's a good way to help deal with these mourning issues. I will tell Kerry all this but, as I'm sure you know, it's up to you to keep it all up."

"Yeah, that's the hard part."

"I know. But just make an effort and everything will work out. Did you have anymore questions or comments?"

"No."

"Okay. I'll set the meds up," they both stood and went to the door, "and things should run more smoothly." they shook hands as Carter left. Behind him DeRaad said, "Oh, and John, be nicer to the nurses. You know they run this place." And the door closed.

And things did go smoothly after that. Carter tried to participate more and the withdrawal quickly subsided, making the staff believe nerves were the cause all along. He had started the Citalopram and waited for his body to adjust to it. The only major downsides were that it made it hard for him to express any emotions and it reduced his appetite even more.

On the afternoon of his third day, Carter got word that he would be released the next morning. He was overjoyed. But then he noticed Dominica sitting alone, looking horribly forlorn. _How could she still be here?_ He went and sat next to her.

She said, "I heard you'll be free tomorrow."

"Yeah. Any word on your status?"

She shook her head. "I haven't reached my exit weight yet. They'll hold me until then, even though this is supposed to be a short term ward."

"Not to be rude, but I understand their concern."

She looked up at him, disgusted. "What? Are you an expert now? Dr. John?" She stood up and walked away.

Carter sighed and hung his head. He felt sorry for her, but obviously he could do nothing about it. And he knew the doctors were right.

For Carter the remainder of the evening was composed of the staff preparing him for "the outside". He wasn't afraid of anything except facing his co-workers... co-workers that would demand answers. The staff told him that it was his choice on how much he revealed. Unfortunately Carter, and the staff, knew the whole hospital would already be well aware of what he did. Sadly his mind kept falling on Dominica. She too was lost and alone. And he hoped she would soon be well.

At 1:27am, well past "bedtime", Carter still couldn't fall asleep. Just as he was thinking that he wished DeRaad had given him sleeping aid, he heard a scream come from the hall.

"HELP! HELP! SOMEONE!"

Carter bolted out of bed and into the hall. The screams came from Lily, a bi-polar girl Carter hardly knew. As people popped their sleepy heads in the hall, nurses came running.

Lily continued to shout. "It's Sarah! She threw up and won't stop shaking!" Sarah was Lily's roommate.

Carter jumped into action, running behind the nurses.

Roberts shouted, "Everyone back to bed!" as Carter nearly slammed into Dominica as he ran past.

They reached the room and another nurse shouted "Call the ER!" to no one.

Carter knelt beside the seizing girl and said, "She needs Ativan. Now."

"John, we need a doctor to give that order," Roberts replied.

"I am a doctor!" he shouted in response.

"A patient can't treat another patient-"

"Do you want her brain to fry?"

Roberts turned to another nurse and ordered, "Get the Ativan."

Five minutes later the situation had been resolved. Sarah had been stabilized and transported to the ER. The ward was quiet once again, yet Carter couldn't get back to bed. As he sat in the public sitting room Dominica came to join him. She sat down beside Carter.

"So," she said, "You're not a teacher."

"No. Not really anyway."

"I guess this means you do know something about my alleged condition after all, Dr. John."

"I'm not a psychiatrist; but yes, I understand some on eating disorders... For when I need to order psych consults."

An awkward pause sat between them.

Then Dominica continued, "So, was the rest of your story a lie too?"

"No," Carter rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. "I was stabbed and got hooked on pain meds. And my son did die recently... I just didn't want everyone to know I'm a doctor."

"Because you work here?"

Carter looked at her shocked. "How did you...?"

"There's no other reason to keep it secret." She paused. "When was the last time you used drugs?"

This took Carter aback. "What?" he nervously asked. "Are you a doctor now? You don't get to ask me that." He stood defensively.

"It's a simple question, John. You've avoided the topic in group-"

A new voice entered the room. "Dominica." It was Nurse Roberts yet again. "You need to go back to your room and go to bed."

Dominica sighed loudly but did not argue. She stood up and left the room, with Roberts watching.

Once satisfied the girl was away, Roberts turned to Carter and motioned for him to sit with her. "I shouldn't let you be up right now, but I wanted to thank you for helping Sarah."

"It's my job." His voice was scratchy from fatigue. "She has epilepsy doesn't she?"

"I think so. Your friends downstairs think her new meds induced it." Roberts stood. "Okay, go to bed. You're being released tomorrow so you need to get some rest."

Carter did as he was told.

The next morning ran smoothly. Carter said his goodbyes, finished his exit exam, and signed out. He was going straight down to meet with Weaver and Anspaugh to get their meeting over with. Strangely he wasn't nervous. He's done what they'd requested so he felt he knew what to expect.

Once he was in the administrative wing, he told the office worker that he was there to see them.

"I'll let them know you're here," she said, "but it may be a while. The ER got hit hard today."

"That's okay. I'll wait."

Carter sat in a waiting chair and looked down at himself. It was then that he wished he'd gone home to change clothes. He was wearing scrubs from upstairs and carrying a bag of his clothes from the day he was admitted. He looked in the bag and saw that they weren't badly wrinkled.

Standing up Carter said to the woman, "I'll be right back," and he went to the washroom to change. Once back in the office area, Carter sat and waited. It reminded him of when he came back from Atlanta, only the difference being it was Kerry and Mark then. But Carter tried to push those thoughts away. And he waited.

Slowly one hour became two; two hours became three. It was approaching four o'clock before Kerry and Anspaugh walked in.

"Carter," Kerry said, "Please follow us," and they led him into the conference room.

They all sat, Weaver and Anspaugh on one side of the table, and Carter on the other, and the meeting had begun. Again this reminded Carter of his return from Atlanta.

Kerry started, "Sorry to make you wait. We'll make this short and to the point. Carl DeRaad has been keeping us updated on your stay upstairs, including some physical ailments and... let's say verbal outbursts."

Carter's eyes quickly shot to Anspaugh and down to the table.

Anspaugh responded, "Don't be embarrassed, Dr. Carter. I wouldn't have wanted to be there either."

"Right," Kerry said, "back to the matter at hand: your suspension. We've decided that a two week suspension may have been rash. Instead you are strongly recommended, but not required, to go to AA or NA for 30 meetings, preferably in 30 days. Also, although you're not suspended, you are on probation for the next week. No slip-ups, John. Any questions?"

"Yeah. Why this sudden change of heart?"

"We have minimal evidence of anything," Anspaugh responded. "You had no serious withdrawal and all your blood work has come back negative for narcotics. And you were able to convince DeRaad that it wasn't a suicide attempt. However he did let us know that he believes you need counseling, and we also are highly recommending that."

"But again not required of me?" Carter asked.

"No," said Kerry, "but if you do these recommended things it will look better for you. There's no harm in doing these. I also want to make it clear that we are worried that your drinking can easily destroy your career. It almost has already and it's starting to look bad for you."

"I know. And I'm not going to let that happen. I'm working on it."

"Anything else?"

"Just one more question. Will I need to take drug tests this time?"

Anspaugh and Kerry looked at each other. Kerry responded, "At this point I don't see the need in that. As Don said, you've been negative on everything. But like I said, one slip-up is all it takes."

"Okay. Thank you for your trust."

They all stood, but right before Carter exited the room, Anspaugh said, "Get some dinner and rest, and we'll see you back here tomorrow, Dr. Carter."

"Yes, sir."

"And, Dr. Carter, keep your nose clean."

"Yes, sir."

Carter made his way downstairs and, unfortunately, had to cross through the ER to exit the hospital. He wanted nothing more than to avoid his co-workers today, but he knew that wouldn't be possible. Susan was the first who found him.

"Carter!" she called and ran over. Before Carter even had a chance to reply he felt himself in a bear hug from his friend. "Are you okay?" she asked as she looked him over.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Susan." He felt like an idiot.

Out of the blue Susan punched his arm, and hard. "Don't you dare do that again! What were you thinking?!"

"I wasn't. That was the problem. And ouch!" He rubbed his "battered" arm. "Do you know where Abby is?"

"Not here. She was suspended and then took today off."

"Suspended for what?"

"After being caught knowing about your script." Susan looked at Carter disapprovingly.

"I didn't take any!" he defended.

"I know. What's going to happen to you now?"

"I start work again tomorrow," he replied.

"After-"

"After my accident, Susan. It was an accident. Nothing more. Who all knows what happened and that I was upstairs?" He looked around nervously.

"Um, everyone." She said it as if he should know already.

"Damn." He rubbed his face. "I'm getting out of here. I don't want to explain anything to anybody today." And with that he walked away, leaving Susan in the hall.

By the time Carter reached his house, he was feeling pretty good, but also guilty for being the cause of Abby's suspension. Immediately upon entering he knew that something was wrong, but he couldn't place what it was. He went into the kitchen and saw the answering machine blinking. He pressed the play button.

BEEP

"_You have three new messages."_

BEEP

"_John, it's Abby. I know you're not home right now because, well, I just saw them take you upstairs. But I thought I'd let you know that I'm going to be home for a few days. You probably know why by now. Anyways, give me a call when you get home because I really want to talk."_

BEEP

"_Hello, John, it's Kem."_ Carter's eyes shot to the machine. _"I called the hospital and they said you'd be unavailable for a few days, but wouldn't tell me why. I hope everything is okay." _Pause. _"John, I'm going to be in Chicago tomorrow to gather the last of my things. I hope I see you tomorrow." _ He looked around and sure enough, that was the difference. Her things were gone.

BEEP

"_John, it's Kem again. I waited as long as I could. I've been calling your cell phone, but it must be off. I'm sorry to leave things like this, but I need to move on with my life. I wish you the best, John. Goodbye."_

BEEP

"_End of messages."  
_

* * *

_It started off so well  
They said we made a perfect pair  
I clothed myself in your glory and your love  
How I loved you  
How I cried  
The years of care and loyalty  
Were nothing but a sham it seems  
The years belie we lived the lie  
"I love you 'til I die"_

_Save me, Save me, Save me  
I can't face this life alone  
Save me Save me Save me  
I'm naked and I'm far from home_

_The slate will soon be clean  
I'll erase the memories  
To start again with somebody new  
Was it all wasted  
All that love ?  
I hang my head and I advertise  
A soul for sale or rent  
I have no heart, I'm cold inside  
I have no real intent_

_Save me, Save me, Save me  
I can't face this life alone  
Save me Save me  
Oh I'm naked and I'm far from home_

_Each night I cry and still believe the lie  
I love you 'till I die_

_(Save me, Save me, Save me)  
Yea, yeah  
Save me yeah Save me oh Save me  
Don't let me face my life alone  
Save me, Save me  
Oh I'm naked and I'm far from home _

Song: "Save Me" by Queen


	17. Chapter 17: About Your Health?

**Sorry! I know it's been ages! But I need to poll you guys about something VERY IMPORTANT (at least to me). I realized that this story has had very long chapters, while this current chapter is a bit shorter. Please, please, please let me know if you prefer long chapters (like the previous few) or short chapters (like this one). If I go with the short chapters, chances are it will mean more chapters overall, but they might be more manageable than the long ones. Anyways, let me know and I hope you enjoy this one... it is kind of a bridging chapter, but I still like it. DMJ  
**

* * *

**Chapter 17: About Your Health?**

She had woken up suddenly, unsure of the reason. Then she heard the phone. _Who the hell…?_ she thought. In a sleepy voice she answered the phone, expecting it to be the hospital.

"Hello?" she asked.

"She left me," was all that was said.

"What?" She was confused. "Who is this?"

"Abby, I thought she was coming back, but she took all her things. She's gone." A muffled sob came through the phone.

"Carter?" She sat up in bed. _Not now_ she thought, but there was no answer. "Carter? Are you there? Did you take anything?"

Not answering her question, Carter responded, "I… I can't stay here right now. I have to get out of here. I can't deal with this anymore."

"No, Carter. Stay where you are. Stay at your house. I'll be right over."

"God, I can't deal with this anymore," he repeated. Abby half wondered if Carter was actually addressing God.

She replied, "John?" but only heard the dial tone. "Shit!"

Abby bolted out of bed, threw on some clothes, and ran out the door. As she drove, she dialed Carter's cell but only got his voicemail. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" she screamed.

Expecting the worst Abby dialed 911. "This is Dr. Lockhart from County General. I think my friend needs help. Something's wrong and now he won't answer his phone." She was nearly in tears, as she told the operator Carter's address. "I'm on my way now. I'll be there in five minutes."

As Abby turned the corner onto Carter's street she saw the ambulance coming from the opposite direction. All the parties present ran to the door where there was no answer. Abby tried the knob and found it unlocked. They searched the house, but with no luck

Seeing that Abby was nearly hysterical, one of the paramedics said, "Ma'am, calm down. Now what exactly is going on? Is this a suicide attempt? What did your friend say?"

"I don't know." She was frantic. "He just got released from the hospital for an _alleged_ suicide attempt. And then he called me and something wasn't right. He might have done something stupid, but I just don't know."

"Is there anywhere else he could be?"

Abby's mind was racing. "He likes this bar down the street…"

"Did he say he was going to harm himself?"

"No, he didn't. But he's depressed so I just don't know. He's been binge drinking recently, but I don't know if he would intentionally harm himself."

"Okay. How about we go to the bar? You lead and we'll follow to check him out if he's there."

Abby started driving, with the ambulance behind her. As they approached the bar, Abby saw a familiar figure sitting on the stoop with his head in his hands. Another man stood over him, and police stood around.

Once out of her car, Abby ran over, crouched beside Carter and asked, "Are you okay?"

An officer tried to pull Abby away but the paramedics informed him that she was a friend.

Carter was unresponsive to Abby, but she heard him crying. She asked the other man, the bartender from previous encounters, "What the hell happened?"

"He had just gotten his drink – hadn't even touched it - and threw it at the mirror behind the bar. I couldn't calm him down, so I called the cops." He paused, "I'm not going to press charges but I need to get back in there." A cop nodded and the bartender left.

Raising Carter's tear stained face, Abby asked, "John, are you drunk? Hurt?"

He shook his head, stood and started walking away, but was stopped by the emergency crew. A paramedic said, "Dr. Carter, we need to look you over and make sure you're okay."

"I'm sorry to cause you all this trouble." He tried to continue walking but was again stopped.

With Carter occupied, a cop pulled Abby to the side and said, "When we got here we breathalized him but it came back goose eggs. So what's his story? Should we be concerned with him becoming violent?"

"No. He's not a violent person. He's just going through some personal stuff."

"Just remember that everyone who cracks has a first time."

"Yeah, I know." And then out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw Carter once again trying to walk away from the paramedics. She snapped. "God damn it Carter! Let them check you over!" He didn't respond, just kept walking. Abby pushed past the crew and, as she shoved Carter, screamed "You scared the shit out of me, John!" Again Carter was unresponsive. Abby went to shove him again but was restrained by a cop. She easily shrugged him off and responded, "No! He can't keep doing this to me!" and to Carter, "You can't keep calling me in the middle of the night with these cryptic messages. This emotional rollercoaster you have me on is over unless you explain yourself."

Carter finally made eye contact with Abby. He said, "She moved all her stuff out, Abby, while I was in the hospital. She's been calling me for days but I didn't get the messages 'till now because I wasn't here." He paused. "I could have stopped her!"

Abby tried to remain calm but could hear her own voice cracking. "So you went to a bar after you have been trying to prove to us that you aren't an alcoholic?" She shook her head, "I can't do this tonight." She walked back to her car, but before she left she said, "But if you do decide to kill yourself, call 911. My phone will be unplugged," and she drove away.

Carter watched her drive off and then felt a hand grab his elbow. It was one of the cops. The officer said, "Come on, you don't have a say in this. You have forced two people to call 911 on you tonight, so I am making you get checked out."

"Fine." Carter was defeated and let the cop lead him to the back of the ambulance, where he was instructed to sit on the rig's end.

After checking vitals, one of the paramedics said to Carter, "Should we bring you to the hospital? Do we need to worry about your safety? About your health?"

Carter rubbed his eyes and responded, "No. I just need to get home." He stood up and was about to walk away, but the same cop that held his elbow grabbed it again and said, "Whoa there, fella. We'll drive you back." Carter nodded and got in the back of the squad car, while the ambulance went on its way.

As they approached the house, the cop said, "I don't know what's going on with you, or who left, or anything like that. But I do know that while you are worried about losing one person, you should also be worried about losing another. That lady that came looking for you tonight isn't going to keep running back to you—"

"No offense," Carter interrupted, "but I don't want to hear this right now." They were stopped in front of his house, and the cop let Carter out.

The police waited outside for a few minutes to watch Carter go inside, not knowing that once the door closed, he fell to the floor and cried once again.

* * *

_This is how it goes  
You'll get angry at yourself  
And think you can think of something else  
And I'll hear the clanging of the bells  
Cause I can't stop you baby_

_Cause I don't have a bribery in place  
No bright shining surface to my face  
So I won't go near the market place  
With what I'm selling lately  
Cause this is how it goes_

_Cause it's all about drugs  
It's all about shame  
And whatever they want  
Don't tell them your name_

_This is how it goes  
One more failure to connect  
With so many how could I object  
And you, what on earth did you expect  
Well I can't tell you baby  
When this is how it goes_

_Cause it's all about drugs  
It's all about shame  
And whatever they want  
Don't tell them your name_

_So I'll try to hold on  
While you try to let go  
You won't tell me it's gone  
But baby I'll know  
Baby I'll know  
Baby I'll know  
Baby I'll know_

Song: _This Is How It Goes_ by Aimee Mann


	18. Chapter 18: Psych Out

**Chapter 18: Psych Out**

No one had heard from Carter in nearly four weeks. He had contacted Weaver and simply told her that he needed time off to sort things out… to sort his life out. Kerry readily allowed the vacation. That was the last thing the hospital heard from him, so everyone was shocked when Carter walked through the doors one day, without any notice, ready to pick up where he had left off.

But once again he had changed. Regardless of the month off, Carter's appearance was still deteriorating. Once again he had lost weight and his body looked fatigued because of it. Everyone noticed, but no one said a thing.

As the day progressed, co-workers tried to ignore their thoughts. Although his body looked ill, Carter's demeanor had improved greatly but not uncharacteristically. The simple fact was, Carter seemed like he was starting to find happiness again, which made it easier to pretend that he looked fine. During one of Carter's breaks, Luka tracked him down and found him nearly asleep on the lounge couch.

Luka gently shook his shoulder. "John, wake up."

Carter's eyes fluttered open. "What? Oh, sorry." He stretched. "After a month I guess I'm out of practice."

"Here," Luka handed him a sub sandwich, "You should eat something."

Carter looked at the sandwich, "Thanks, but I'm not really hungry."

"So I can see. When did you last eat?" Luka sat on the table across from Carter.

The young doctor studied Luka's face for a moment before smiling and asking, "What is this? What are you getting at?"

"I'm not going to play games, John. You have to realize how skinny you've gotten. And I have to assume it's because you're drinking your meals."

"That's bullshit," Carter laughed.

"You're sick, but we can take care of you—"

"No, Luka," Carter leaned forward, "It's bullshit because I quit drinking."

The shock on Luka's face was obvious. "When?"

Carter leaned back. "Um, I last drank the night I was admitted. So about four weeks ago."

Luka slowly nodded. "What have you been doing the past few months?"

"Thinking. Just resting. I'm fine, really."

"You don't look fine."

"Then maybe you should stop looking. You are trying to find a problem that doesn't exist."

"Plain and simple, Carter, you don't look healthy. You may be acting better than you were before, but physically you look ill. Why is that, after a month of vacation?"

Carter stood up and walked to his locker. "I went off the antidepressants. So my body is readjusting. They were draining my energy and making it hard for me to concentrate… and even move. So even though I may look worse, I do feel much better." He pulled a bottle from his locker and popped a pill into his mouth.

Of course this caught Luka's attention. "What was that?"

"Caffeine." Carter showed the label. "I'm tired and I don't want to drink coffee."

Luka put the sandwich on the table and stood up. "Eat something and maybe you won't be so tired." As he walked out he continued, "Two weeks, Carter. If you don't look physically better in two weeks you're getting a full physical."

Once Luka was out, Carter slammed his locker and silently mouthed, "Shit."

Later in the day the hushed whispers had stopped and co-workers acted as if they had no concern. Carter didn't care about any of them, though. He only cared about how badly he had hurt Abby. Unfortunately, he had found out that she switched shifts so that they would no longer see each other at work.

While caught up in thought, Carter didn't realize that Morris had come up next to him.

"Carter, I need advice on a patient. Twenty-two year old female fainted at school."

Carter stood and started walking with Morris. "So what's the problem?"

"Could you just evaluate her and let me know if you think a psych consult is needed?"

Carter stopped, "Wait, Morris, what aren't you telling me?" he grabbed the chart and read, " 'Slight malnourishment, vitamin deficiency, body exhaustion'." He looked up. "Did Luka put you up to this? Want me to see what weight loss does?"

"What are you talking about? No. I just didn't know if a psych consult was warranted. Chill out."

"Where is she?"

"Curtain One."

They walked over and Carter pulled back the curtain to see a familiar face.

"Dominica?" Carter's face was full of shock.

"Hey, John," she smiled.

Morris looked confused. "You know her?"

Carter turned to the other doctor, grabbed the chart, and said, "I got this one, Morris. Thanks," and closed the curtain. He flipped open the chart. Sure enough there was her name. _How did I miss that?_ This time he read her chart more carefully. He sat on a stool and looked at her. "How are you feeling?"

She smiled again, "I've been better. So this is where you work, huh?" She paused. "John, you're not looking too hot."

"Yeah, that seems to be the general consensus. I could say the same about you." And it was true. Dominica looked exhausted and withered. She had lost all color in her face and her eyes were dazed and glazed from fatigue. Carter continued, "I see you didn't see the need to tell Dr. Morris about your past hospital history."

"It's not the same. I'm so close now. I just need to lose five more pounds—"

"And what? You'll stop?"

"Yes."

"Yeah right. You and I both know that you won't stop until you're dead. Dominica, this is a full relapse. This is bad."

She looked away. "I know."

"You know that I have to call psych on you, right?"

She nodded.

"Are you going to bolt as soon as I leave? Before psych comes down?"

She looked up and made no indication.

"Okay. I have to put restraints on you then—"

"No!" She tried to sit up but couldn't find the energy.

Carter continued, "You are a danger to yourself—"

"No more than you are a danger to yourself. I know enough to know what an addict looks like," she hissed.

Carter tried to ignore her as he tied on the restraints.

Dominica continued, "When was the last time you used? Huh? Yesterday night? This morning?"

Carter finished with the restraints and looked at her. "Are you trying to blackmail me, Dominica?"

"Are you going to let me go home?"

"I can't do that and you know it."

"Does it feel good to be high again? Or are you itching for that next fix?"

Carter looked away and then back at her, but gave no response to her inquiry. He simply said, "I hope you get better, Dominica," and walked out. When he found Morris, he handed him the chart and muttered, "She needs psych, ASAP."

* * *

_Broken this fragile thing now  
And I can't, I can't pick up the pieces  
And I've thrown my words all around  
But I can't, I can't give you a reason_

_I feel so broken up (so broken up)  
And I give up (I give up)  
I just want to tell you so you know_

_Here I go, scream my lungs out and try to get to you  
You are my only one  
I let go, but there's just no one that gets me like you  
You are my only, my only one_

_Made my mistakes, let you down  
And I can't, I can't hold on for too long  
Ran my whole life in the ground  
And I can't, I can't get up when you're gone_

_And something's breaking up (breaking up)  
I feel like giving up (like giving up)  
I won't walk out until you know_

_Here I go, scream my lungs out and try to get to you  
You are my only one  
I let go, but there's just no one that gets me like you  
You are my only my only one_

_Here I go so dishonestly  
Leave a note for you my only one  
And I know you can see right through me  
So let me go and you will find someone_

_Here I go, scream my lungs out and try to get to you  
You are my only one  
I let go, but there's just no one, no one like you  
You are my only, my only one  
My only one_

Song: _Only One_ by Yellowcard

* * *

I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. Please review and tell me what you think! _DMJ _


	19. Chapter 19: Let's Get Physical!

WHO ELSE IS SUPER EXCITED THAT CARTER IS COMING BACK TO "ER" THIS SEASON?!?!?!

* * *

**Chapter 19: Let's Get Physical!**

Two weeks had passed and as Luka had sadly expected, Carter had gotten worse. His already rail thin body had become dangerously skeletal. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes were dead. And even worse, his erratic moods were back, something that the hospital could not ignore.

Abby still would not make contact with Carter. And Kerry and Anspaugh had given Luka the okay to do whatever he felt was appropriate. Anspaugh's only instructions were, "No more kids' gloves. Treat him as if he isn't a friend, but a co-worker with a history of substance abuse."

Luka found Carter doing charts in the suture room.

"Come on, Carter. It's time for your physical," the attending unenthusiastically stated.

Carter looked up, confused. "What?"

"I told you that you had two weeks to straighten up. It's been two weeks."

"I didn't think you were serious," Carter lied.

"I was."

Carter looked back down at his charts and, while pretending to be involved with the paper work, simple stated, "Let's just get this over with. Suspend me."

Now it was Luka's turn to look confused. "What? What are you talking about?"

"You were going to suspend me after the physical anyway, no matter what you thought about my 'condition'. So you might as well save us all the trouble and do it now."

Luka paused, trying to read inside Carter's mind. "You know that I'm going to find something. What was it? What are you hiding?" Carter didn't look up at his colleague, but continued to stare at his charts and didn't answer. This forced Luka to continue, "What _is _it? Fentanyl again? Or what, Demerol? Percocet? Or morphine? Heroin? Are you high now, John?"

Carter shook his head but still didn't look up. He couldn't face the doctor as he replied, "No, of course not. It's nothing really. I just slipped…. Barely a slip even." He looked up at Luka. "Vicodin. That's all."

Luka rubbed a hand over his face and paused, needing a moment to think. "Okay. When was this?"

Looking back at his charts, Carter took a bottle out from his pocket and set it on the table. Again Carter tried to look busy with his paperwork. Luka picked up the bottle, the same bottle he had seen Carter with not too long before. The attending said, dumbfounded, "These aren't caffeine pills are they?"

Carter simply shook his head and tapped his pen on the desk.

"I trusted you when you told me they were caffeine," Luka continued, "but really you've been doping up this whole time?"

Carter finally looked up. "It's only been off and on for a few weeks. Not that long—"

"John, this isn't just a suspension we're talking about. This is grounds for dismissal!" Luka quietly yelled. "Where did you get these? From here?"

"No," Carter quickly responded. "I didn't steal them. They were prescribed to me."

"And did the doctor know about your history?"

Carter paused. "Of course not. Look, it was just to help me get through some stuff, but now it's over. I won't do it again."

"Is it over because you want it to be over? Or is it over because you knew I was going to take these from you?" Carter didn't answer. Luka continued, "Is this going to be a pattern, John?

Carter sighed and replied, "I said I'm done with them. I don't need them anymore—"

"Because you're ready to move onto harder stuff?! I'm confiscating these and you are suspended until further notice."

Carter gathered his paperwork and started heading for the door. But before he could leave, Luka continued, "The hospital has given you so many chances, John." Carter turned to face him, "And I think you have gotten accustomed to expecting us to let you back. I don't know how the administration is going to feel about this slip. You may have run out of free passes."

Carter waited for Luka to continue, and when he didn't, the young doctor exited the room. On his way out of the hospital, he ran into Susan just starting her day.

"Hey Carter," she greeted, "Is your shift over?"

"No, I'm being sent home and I've been suspended." He started walking again but was stopped by her question.

"Wait! Why are they sending you home? What's going on?"

Carter sighed, "Luka accused me of doping."

"Well, with the way you look and have been acting recently, are you that surprised?"

"Oh, don't you start too. I'm just dealing with my own stuff."

"This may sound insensitive, but it's been a while since all that happened to you. I don't want to say 'get over it' but you do need to find some better way of dealing with all of it than how you have been. Wait… they wouldn't be punishing you unless there was more than just an accusation. Carter, are you doping?"

"I…" he almost told her the whole truth but changed his mind. "I really don't want to talk about it right now, Susan. And I don't want to be here right now. Goodbye." And he walked away_.  
_

* * *

_Precious and fragile things  
Need special handling  
My God what have we done to You?_

_We always try to share  
The tenderest of care  
Now look what we have put You through..._

_Things get damaged  
Things get broken  
I thought we'd manage  
But words left unspoken  
Left us so brittle  
There was so little left to give_

_Angels with silver wings  
Shouldn't know suffering  
I wish I could take the pain for You_

_If God has a master plan  
That only He understands  
I hope it's Your eyes He's seeing through_

_Things get damaged  
Things get broken  
I thought we'd manage  
But words left unspoken  
Left us so brittle  
There was so little left to give_

_I pray You learn to trust  
Have faith in both of us  
And keep room in Your heart for two_

_Things get damaged  
Things get broken  
I thought we'd manage  
But words left unspoken  
Left us so brittle  
There was so little left to give_

Song: "Precious" by Depeche Mode


	20. Chapter 20: For Heaven's Sake!

One week till ER's season premiere... could it be that last premiere ever? this is a short story, but my next chapter is almost done... I think hell hath frozen over... this rapid fire writing is freaky. DMJ

* * *

**Chapter 20: For Heaven's Sake!**

Luka stood in front of them again. He hated that he had to do this, but knew that it was necessary.

"What evidence do you have?" Kerry asked.

"He confessed to the Vicodin," Luka said as he took out the bottle. "And I took them from him, although I'm sure he has more. I've suspended him. What's the next step?"

Anspaugh spoke, "I'm hesitant to let him come back."

"But if we abandon him," Kerry replied, "he may just give up on himself. I say we do the same as before: offer to get him help in rehab or he's fired."

"I don't like this anymore than you do, but we can't keep letting him get away with this or he'll keep doing it."

"He's not getting away with anything," interjected Luka. "But I think that he has to know that this is it. If he goes to rehab and comes back, there can be no more chances. No more trips to rehab courtesy of the hospital, no more tolerance from us."

Kerry sighed, "You're both right. I suppose I am avoiding the gravity of the matter. I just don't want to lose him. I'll give him a couple of days to realize where he is. Then I'll call and let him know his options."

And that was that. No one wanted to deal with him in this way, but no one could deny that something drastic needed to be done. For the sake of the patients. For the sake of the hospital. For the sake of Carter's life.

* * *

_ We're damaged people  
Drawn together  
By subtleties that we are not aware of  
Disturbed souls  
Playing out forever  
These games that we once thought we would be scared of_

When you're in my arms  
The world makes sense  
There is no pretense  
And you're crying  
When you're by my side  
There is no defense  
I forget to sense  
I'm dying

We're damaged people  
Praying for something  
That doesn't come from somewhere deep inside us  
Depraved souls  
Trusting in the one thing  
The one thing that this life has not denied us

When I feel the warmth  
Of your very soul  
I forget I'm cold  
And crying  
When your lips touch mine  
And I lose control  
I forget I'm old  
And dying 

Song: _Damaged People_ by Depeche Mode


	21. Chapter 21: The Word

**Oh, snap! You wanted another chapter and here it is. R&R and of course enjoy! _DMJ_  
**

* * *

**Chapter 21: The Word**

Word traveled fast around the hospital, and by two days later everyone knew why Carter was gone, including Abby. She wanted to forget about him, to let him destroy his life if that's what he wanted, but she couldn't leave him alone.

After her shift, she went to his house and knocked. A moment passed and the door opened….. and she saw his glassy eyes.

"Abby. I didn't think you'd ever talk to me again."

"What can I say, Carter? Apparently it's in my nature to check up on you." She stepped into the house and went to the living room.

Carter sat on the couch. Abby noticed that in front of the man was a glass of whiskey and a burning cigarette. She said, "Luka told me that you quit drinking. I guess that didn't last."

He shrugged and picked up the drink. "I have time off so I thought I'd relax a bit."

"Yeah. How else are you relaxing?" She sat down next to him.

Carter smiled, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, how long have you been using?" She stared him in the eyes. Breaking the gaze, he took a drag from his cigarette.

In a flat voice he replied, "What are you talking about? You know I stopped. You caught me with that script—"

"Don't play dumb with me, Carter. You know this isn't a social visit. Everyone at the hospital knows about the pills. But I know you're shooting up too. It's your method of choice—"

"You don't _know_ anything."

"Your eyes are glazed over as we speak! Now how long?"

Carter sighed. There was no point to hide it anymore. His using one drug was just as bad as any other. "I don't know exactly. Not long. But you don't have to worry about this-"

"Of course I do! You are endangering patients' lives—!"

"I don't shoot up at work….. And now that I'm not working, I obviously can't endanger patients' lives."

"Fine. Then at the very least you're endangering your life. Does the hospital even know about ... What are you even taking?"

"Morphine." Carter dodged the hospital question. "But I have it under control. I don't share needles. I take drugs to feel normal. I regulate my intake very precisely—"

Abby jumped up in fury. "There are so many things wrong with what you said that I don't know where to begin! 'Have it under control'? Have you lost your mind?! There is no control when you're on drugs! You're shooting morphine for Christ's sakes! John, you need help."

"No," Carter shook his head. "County will fire me. No way."

"If they don't know by now that you're doing hard shit, they'll find out soon enough. Do you really think the Vicodin will just get you a slap on the wrist?"

"I don't know. But they don't need to know about the morphine. I just need to get through this on my own….. It's really not as bad as it sounds—."

"It's morphine!" Abby shouted.

Carter quickly responded, "It's not nearly as strong as fentanyl—"

"That is no justification." She walked away, into the bathroom and Carter hung his head.

When Abby returned, Carter looked up and saw that she had her hands full. But something stopped her. Before sitting down, Abby went to the second floor, to Carter's bedroom. She returned with even more in her hands, and Carter knew exactly what it was.

Abby read off her findings as she put them down on the coffee table. "Four bottles of various pain pills. Two bottles of sleeping pills. Leftover antidepressants. Three vials of morphine. And a package of hospital syringes." She waited for his response, but all Carter did was take another swallow from his drink.

Crossing her arms, Abby ordered, "Roll up your sleeves." She stood over him, looking down at him.

Carter took a drag from his cigarette and responded, "You are starting to sound like Kerry. Why? I already admitted to the morphine."

She sat next to him, "I want to see how bad this has gotten.

He hesitated and just looked into her eyes. After a long moment, Carter finally did as he was told. He pushed up his sleeves and held his arms out. He turned his face away, and Abby knew it was from shame. She looked down and saw what nearly made her heart stop. Running from his elbows to his wrists, track marks scarred his arms. The vast amount of needle marks terrified Abby.

She sharply drew in a breath, "Carter….." and she closed her eyes.

Carter rolled his sleeves back down and leaned back into the couch with drink in hand.

Abby opened her eyes, "How did you pass all those drug tests?" Her voice was laced with confusion and desperation to understand the situation.

"I honestly wasn't using then."

"Why didn't you come talk to me? To anyone before it got like this?"

"You don't understand." Carter started gathering the objects on the coffee table, "Nothing was working. Nothing helped." He started walking away.

Abby shouted, "Are you going off to shoot up?!"

"He stopped and turned to her. "No, Abby. I'm going to put these things away so they aren't sitting out in the open."

"Does your family know?"

"What?"

"Do they know that you're using again?"

"How would they?" He walked off, but continued, "I hardly ever talk to them."

As Abby sat alone in confusion, Carter's cell phone rang.

From another room Carter shouted, "Could you get that?" Abby rolled her eyes but picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Oh, hi this is Dr. Weaver calling for Dr. Carter."

"Hi Kerry, this is Abby. Listen, it's worse than we thought. It's not just Vicodin—"

From the other room Carter asked, "Who is it?"

Abby didn't respond to him, but instead continued talking to Kerry. "It's morphine. He hasn't been doing it long, but it's bad. Shit, I hear him coming, hold on."

Carter emerged from the doorway, eyes glazed and unsteady on his feet. A sheepish smile spread across his face as he made his way to Abby.

She couldn't believe her eyes. Pulling the phone away from her face she hissed, "You're high?!"

Carter simply put a finger to his mouth in a shush and broke into a smile again.

He cleared his throat and asked, "Who is it?"

"Kerry." Abby put the phone in his hand.

Upon hearing the name, Carter's smile faded and he whispered, "You didn't say anything, did you?"

"No," she lied, and sat down on the couch.

Carter cleared his throat again and into the phone spoke, "Hey Kerry, it's John."

Abby couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but based on Carter's expression, she knew he wasn't happy. To see someone's face slowly transform from a smile, to confusion, to absolute realization is quite a sight, and that's exactly what Abby experienced.

Carter wasn't given much of an opportunity to speak, but when he did Abby listened closely to try to understand what Kerry was saying. Unfortunately she didn't discover much.

From start to finish, Carter's words said nothing that Abby didn't already know.

"Kerry, what….. Who told you….." he glared at Abby. "No, it's not true….. You don't trust me?... I'm not coming in….. No, I'm not high….. What!... Come on, Kerry….. I won't go….. Because I don't need to!... That's it?!... You can't do this….. I said no." Carter looked at the phone, confused, and Abby assumed that Kerry had hung up on him. He slowly closed his phone and looked at Abby.

As he walked to the couch he said, "You said you didn't tell her."

Abby stood, "And you said you weren't going in back to shoot up—"

"They aren't the same!" he shouted.

"You're right," Abby stayed calm, "Because my lie was to save your life, whereas yours was to destroy it."

Carter said no response. He just took a deep breath and sat down.

Abby hesitantly asked, "What did she say?"

"She wants me to go back to Atlanta. I said no." Carter poured a fresh drink and chugged it. Too late, Abby grabbed the empty glass from her friend.

He stared off at nothing so Abby prompted, "And?"

He looked at her. "And she fired me." He stood up and walked to the bedroom, locking the door behind himself.

Abby just sat there thinking, _Now he has no reason to stop.  
_

* * *

_Losing hope is easy  
When your only friend is gone  
And every time you look around  
Well, it all, it all just seems to change_

_The mark was left  
Man it's never the same  
Next time that you shoot  
Make sure that you aim  
Open windows with passing cars  
A brand new night  
With the same old stars_

_Losing hope is easy  
When your only friend is gone  
And every time you look around  
Well, it all, it all just seems to change_

_Feed the fool  
A piece of the pie  
Make a fool of his system  
Make a fool of his mind  
Give him bottles of lies  
And maybe he'll find  
His place in heaven  
Cause he might just die_

_Losing hope is easy  
When your only friend is gone  
And every time you look around  
Well, it all, it all just seems to change  
But hanging on is easy  
When you've got a friend to call  
When nothings making sense at all  
You're not the only one who's afraid of change_

Lyrics from: "Losing Hope" by Jack Johnson


	22. Chapter 22: Pause

A/N: Here we are again. Sorry it took so long this time. I have the next chapter almost done, so hopefully that will be up soon. But I am curious, what do YOU want to see happen? I may or may not take suggestions, but I am interested on how my readers want this story to continue (or end).

* * *

**Chapter 22: Pause**

Time passed quickly. Although Abby was in her own world, taking care of her own issues, she still couldn't get Carter off her mind. It had been a month since he was fired. A month since anyone had seen him. Abby decided she needed to check up on him. But before leaving for the day, she went upstairs to the offices. She knocked on Kerry Weaver's door and walked in.

"Hi, Kerry."

"Abby, do you need something?" Kerry put down the pen she had been holding. "Please sit."

"No thanks. I'm just staying a minute." She didn't sit, but she did step closer. "Kerry, I was planning on seeing Carter today, right now, and I was wondering if you wanted me to tell him anything."

Weaver sighed, "Abby, I can't give him his job back."

"No, that's not what I meant. I meant any message at all. Or would you like to come with me?"

"I wish I could, but I can't today. Just tell him to take care of himself."

Abby nodded and started for the door but was stopped when Kerry continued, "Abby, please come find me tomorrow and let me know how he is."

Abby made a small smile and said, "Okay" before leaving. As she made her way to Carter's house, all she could wonder was _how bad will he look this time?_ She expected the worst. But when he finally opened the door he didn't look much worse than a month before. Abby hoped this meant his addiction hadn't gotten any worse. Then she realized that the only think keeping him standing was his grip on the door.

He wavered slightly and then in a scratchy voice asked, "Abby, whaterya doin' here?" His voice was slurred and Abby could smell the alcohol on his breath.

"I'm just here to visit you, John." She sidestepped past Carter, into the house. "By the way, Kerry says 'hi' and 'take care of yourself'."

Carter didn't respond. He just followed Abby into the living room, drink and smoke waiting for him. Abby hated that Carter was getting so drunk right in front of her, but didn't want to fight him about alcohol. She knew that he was an alcoholic at this point, but she was more concerned with the morphine.

"How are you feeling, John?"

"I am floating and I love it." Abby expected, from that comment, to see him grinning with glee. But instead when she looked into his eyes she only saw emptiness. Carter quickly looked away and continued, "If that's all you wanted to know, you could've called." He took a drag from his cigarette.

"I know," she replied, "I just wanted to see you." She noticed that he couldn't stop fidgeting. She knew it was from the drugs, but still she asked. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Of course I'm not okay, Abby. Just look at me." He started pacing the floor.

"What are you taking now, John?" Still morphine? Or something else?"

He finished his drink, took another drag, but didn't respond.

"Come on, Carter. Stop playing games. I just want to know if it's still morphine. Where's your stash?"

Carter hesitated at first. But then he realized he really didn't care anymore. He walked over to a bookshelf and pulled something from behind some books. It was a small gray case, which he put on the coffee table, and sat down. They say quietly, staring at the box. Finally Abby reached out and opened it. She didn't want to believe her eyes. In the case was demerol, morphine, Oxycotin, and fentanyl…. It was a pharmacy.

Abby finally found her voice. "Where did you get all of this?"

"I didn't steal it," was all he said.

She picked up a vial and felt its weight. "You're using fentanyl again."

"No. I have it, but I haven't used it…. Just others.—"

"What's stopping you?" Abby interjected. He made no reply. With her eyes on the drugs, Abby noticed out of the corner of her eye that Carter was slightly rocking and hugging himself. He rubbed a hand across his face and mumbled, "I need a fix."

Abby pulled the case a few inches closer to herself and asked, "Do you really want this?"

"What kind of a question is that, Abby?" he replied as he pulled his belt from his pants. He pulled out a syringe and said, "You know, fentanyl sounds good today—"

"No, Carter!"

He plucked the vial of fentanyl from her hand and set it next to the syringe on the table. As he pulled his make-shift tourniquet tightly around his arm, Abby said, "I can't watch you do this to yourself."

"Then turn away or leave."

Abby didn't want to leave him alone, so she just turned. She heard something gently plink on the coffee table and expected to see Carter slumped back on the couch in euphoria.

Instead, when she turned she saw him sitting as before, with the belt still wrapped and the syringe still full.

She gave a sigh of relief and asked, "You couldn't do it, could you?"

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

"When I tried to quit smoking, I kept hearing to wait ten minutes and the urges would pass. But they didn't. Waiting only intensified the urge, and the anticipation made me want it more. I've learned that the same is true with this. I just don't have to wait as long." Before Abby could turn away again, Carter picked up the syringe and injected himself. He slowly leaned back with his eyes half closed. Carter didn't even have the interest to pull off the belt, so Abby stretched across and did it for him.

She knew there was no point in having a real conversation with him in this state, but still she insisted. "Don't you see what you've become, John? You're an addict."

"I have expensive shoes on." Jibberish.

She argued, "Your shoes don't make you any less of a junkie!"

Carter paused and then slowly looked at her. "Is that what you think of me? That I'm a junkie?"

"What would you call yourself?" He had no response so she continued, "You never answered before. Is this what you want?"

"Of course this isn't what I want!" He shouted as his eyes opened fully. "Nothing in my life is what I want! But this is how I know to survive."

"You're not surviving anymore, Carter. You are on the verge of killing yourself. People who fight for their lives are surviving. You're giving up, plain and simple. You don't care about anyone, not even yourself. I don't want to see you die, and I'm not going to be by your side to watch your death."

Abby rose and walked to the door. As she left, Carter, in his half-altered state, shouted, "Abby! Wait! Come back!"

She didn't.

The next day Abby returned to Kerry's office as Kerry had requested. When Kerry looked up and saw Abby's expression, she was immediately worried. "What happened?"

Abby stepped forward. She held her hands together to keep them from shaking. Clearing her throat she said, "He's still alive, and that's about the only positive thing I can say." She hugged herself in her arms. "He just started using fentanyl again, yesterday." Abby shook her head and looked away, on the verge of tears.

Kerry stood and walked closer, "Did something else happen? What's gotten you so shaken?"

"Nothing happened. I mean, he shot up in front of me. I couldn't believe he's gotten so open. It's as if he's no longer ashamed. He doesn't care who knows or what happens." A tear ran down her cheek.

Kerry looked at her friend with compassionate eyes and took her hands. "Abby, you have tried to help him so much…. We all have. So now I think you need to ask yourself 'what should you do now? What _can_ you do now?'."

"I don't know if there is anything more I can do. I think Carter is gone."

* * *

_I tried to kill the pain,  
But only brought more.  
(so much more)  
Im dying,  
And Im pouring, crimson regret, and betrayal._

_Im dying,  
Praying,  
Bleeding,  
Screaming.  
Am I too lost to be saved ?  
Am I too lost ?  
My god! my tourniquet,  
Return to me salvation.  
My god! my tourniquet,  
Return to me salvation._

_Do you remember me ?  
Lost for so long.  
Will you be on the other side ?  
Will you forgive me ?_

_Im dying,  
Praying,  
Bleeding,  
Screaming._

_Am I too lost to be saved ?  
Am I too lost ?_

_My god! my tourniquet,  
Return to me salvation.  
My god! my tourniquet,  
Return to me salvation._

_(return to me salvation)  
(I want to die!)_

_My god! my tourniquet,  
Return to me salvation.  
My god! my tourniquet,  
Return to me salvation._

_My wounds cry for the grave.  
My soul cries, for deliverance.  
Will I be denied ?  
Christ! tourniquet! my suicide._

Lyrics: "Tourniquet" by Evanescence


	23. Chapter 23: Family Matters

**A/N: This was probably my favorite chapter to write in this story so far, which is why I couldn't even wait a week to post between chapters. Let me know what you think, and remember keep sending me suggestions on how you want to see this story continue or end! DMJ  
**

* * *

**Chapter 23: Family Matters**

Another two weeks had passed. Carter apparently had been living in seclusion and the hospital was moving on without him. He was still a memory at County, but one that was slowly fading.

One morning, not knowing what had been happening in Carter's life, his father, Jack, arrived at his front door. He knocked on the door but got no answer. He knocked louder and said, "John, it's your father. I was in the area and thought I would stop by."

Jack waited a minute and heard the door being unlocked. It opened a few inches. Carter crossed his arms and asked, "How did you know I'd be here and not at work?"

"I went there first and they said you left the hospital. Why didn't you tell me?" He looked at his son through the crack and asked, "Are you just getting up? It's 9am." Jack pushed the door open and walked into the house. He looked at his son again and furrowed his brow. He had finally noticed Carter in his entirety. Carter was standing in front of Jack in a wife beater and wrinkled khakis. His face was unshaven and his body was gaunt, and his arms were still crossed as if in a defensive posture.

The smile that had been on Jack's face slowly faded. "John, what's going on? You look horrible. Are you okay?"

Carter simply scoffed a laugh and walked into his living room. Confused and beginning to worry, Jack followed Carter and saw him lighting a cigarette.

"No, please don't tell me you started smoking."

Carter looked at his father but still said nothing. Instead he crossed to his liquor cabinet and poured himself a scotch, putting his body between Jack and the cabinet.

Jack continued, "Son, what's going on? Why won't you talk to me?" He stepped over to Carter and saw the scotch.

Carter finally looked at his father and asked in a scratchy voice, "Would you like one?" ignoring the look of shock on his father's face.

"John, it's 9am! What's the matter with you?!" As Carter was mid-gulp, Jack grabbed the glass out of his son's hand. That was when he finally saw the marks on Carter's arm.

"Christ, John!" He slammed the glass on the liquor cabinet. Jack tried to look Carter in the eyes but Carter was set at staring at the floor, arms once again crossed. Jack continued, "You're using drugs again. Is that why you aren't at the hospital? They fired you?"

Carter made eye contact and responded, "No, I quit." He crossed the room and looked back at his father. "They wanted me in rehab. I'm not going back to Atlanta." He say down, took a drag from his cigarette, and shook his head the way only Carter did. "This is just a phase I need to get out of my system."

"A phase? You're not a teenager. Adult men don't have phases." When Carter didn't respond Jack rubbed a hand over his face, thought for a moment, and continued, "You don't have to go back to Atlanta. You know that we can afford the best places in the world--"

Carter cut him off. "It's not the money. Dad, I just don't want to go to rehab."

"And why is that? Is it because you're too proud? Because let me tell you, looking at you right now, you don't have much to be proud of." Jack was furious at his son. He couldn't believe this was happening. Jack stayed quiet as he tried to collect himself. Just as he was about to sit down next to Carter, he saw something glimmer in the corner of his eye. It was an empty medicine vial. Picking it up he read, "Fentanyl." This didn't mean much to Jack, except he remembered this had been his son's drug of choice the first time around.

As Jack stared at the vial, not yet able to look at his son, Carter went back to the liquor cabinet and poured another drink. Jack didn't bother stopping him as he slammed it down his throat and poured yet another. They both sat on the couch, unsure of what to say. Neither looked at the other.

Finally Jack broke the silence. "How bad is it?"

Carter took a drag from his cigarette and nodded. "It's not good. I didn't want the family to know about it."

"You know we'd find out eventually."

Carter just nodded. He finished his scotch, got another, and sat back down, still without looking at his father.

Jack continued, "And the alcohol... is that a problem too? Are you an alcoholic?" Carter nodded, admitting to the disease. "How long has this been going on?"

"Which part? The alcohol?"

"All of it," Jack replied.

Carter sighed, "The alcohol has been going on for a while. And the other--"

"The drugs."

"Yeah--"

"No, I want you to say that you're using drugs."

Carter looked at his father with disdain and continued, "I have been using drugs for a couple months I think."

Jack paused. "Why? What happened to you that this started?"

Carter shook his head again. "My son died. His mother left me. And somehow everything went to hell. I don't know how it got like this."

"John, whether you want to or not, you need to get help." Jack saw his son roll his eyes so he continued, "I don't want the same thing happening to you that happened to Chase. Think of what your grandmother would think of you now. And your own mother--"

"Dad, don't try to make me feel guilty--"

"We've already lost one son. You know how that broke her. I don't know what would happen if we lost you too."

Carter downed the rest of his scotch and gruffly replied, "What would happen is she'd get over it and become the cold statue she has always been."

"That's not fair--"

"But it's true, Dad! You know it and I know it! And please don't tell Mom about this. She'll make it all about her." Carter poured himself a fresh drink which made his father snap.

"Damn it, John! Stop drinking!"

"And why should I?! Would you rather I shoot up? Because I have no problem with that. D'you?" Carter's voice was beginning to slur.

Jack covered his face with his hands and said, "No. Please don't be that person." He looked at his son and continued, "If you don't want my help I guess I'm done here." He started walking to the door with Carter watching and following him.

But Jack couldn't leave just yet. He turned around and asked, "And what will happen when this fentanyl doesn't help anymore? What's that called? Tolerance? Then what?" Carter looked away from his father's gaze, but Jack continued, "What are you going to do when your supplies run out? Are you going to go to the street like some bum? How long before you turn to heroin because it's all you can get?"

Carter looked back up and once again crossed his arms defensively. He replied, "I have a supplier lined up. The same guy who helped Chase--"

"Helped Chase?! You've lost it, John! You were the one trying to keep him clean--!"

"I know that!" Carter shouted back. "Don't think I've forgotten about that, Dad!"

Jack sighed and threw his arms up in frustration and defeat. But before opening the door, Jack rested his hands on Carter's shoulders, the first physical contact they had during the visit. Carter made a slight flinch, but didn't attempt to move away. Jack tried one last time. "John, maybe you should come back with me to get healthy."

"No thank you. I have what I need here."

Jack was shocked. "Don't you want to get healthy?" he asked, looking at his son with concerned eyes. Carter said nothing, which broke his father's heart. He knew that if Carter stayed on this life path, he wouldn't have long to live.

Jack lowered his hands and opened the door. "Just give me a warning so I know when to plan your funeral for," and he left.

* * *

_Mama, we all go to hell.  
Mama, we all go to hell.  
I'm writing this letter and wishing you well,  
Mama, we all go to hell._

_Oh, well, now,  
Mama, we're all gonna die.  
Mama, we're all gonna die.  
Stop asking me questions, I'd hate to see you cry,  
Mama, we're all gonna die._

_And when we go don't blame us, yeah.  
We'll let the fires just bathe us, yeah.  
You made us, oh, so famous.  
We'll never let you go.  
And when you go don't return to me my love._

_Mama, we're all full of lies.  
Mama, we're meant for the flies.  
And right now they're building a coffin your size,  
Mama, we're all full of lies._

_Well Mother, what the war did to my legs and to my tongue,  
You should've raised a baby girl,  
I should've been a better son.  
If you could coddle the infection  
They can amputate at once.  
You should've been,  
I could have been a better son._

_And when we go don't blame us, yeah.  
We'll let the fires just bathe us, yeah.  
You made us, oh, so famous.  
We'll never let you go. _

Song Lyrics: "Mama" by My Chemical Romance (I know, a weird choice)


	24. Chapter 24: Euphoria?

**what? I'm back? that's right! after a month and then some! Sorry I took so long to write again. This chapter kind of deals with the psychological things going on with Carter. R&R and I hope you enjoy! (and there will be more, don't worry!) **

* * *

**Chapter 24: Euphoria?**

The music played, the lights were low, and Carter had accepted his lifestyle. A week ago his father had visited, which drove Carter farther into seclusion. For the first few days calls were continuously streaming in from family members who had heard. Fed up with the constant phones ringing, Carter turned off his cell phone and unplugged his home phones. At one point during the week, Carter, in an intoxicated state, heard knocking and voices come from the other side of the front door; a man's and a woman's voices. The woman was easily recognizable. It was his mother, back from whatever frivolous excursion caught her fancy last. And the man…… could it have been his father? It was hard to tell for certain, but Carter would have been shocked to find them together for his benefit. After a while the knocking stopped. Sure, they could have called the cops or an ambulance on their son. But Carter knew that would never happen. Doing that would cause shame to the family name, something his parents, particularly his father, would never allow.

And so the silence began again. At times it was unnerving, begging Carter to leave and find someone to talk to. Other times, most of the time, it was bliss. It allowed him to escape into his new world, a world consumed by chemicals. Strangely he had few thoughts of his former colleagues and friends. Carter had trained his body to react to these thoughts. Whenever he thought of his past life he automatically upped his dosage to end the thought. But the question was, now was his body becoming addicted to the thoughts? Upping the dose ended the thought but increased the addiction, prompting his brain to recreate the past whenever it was clear enough to do so. Never-ending. Carter didn't mind as long as his thoughts didn't get too involved. Superficial was all he could handle.

He sat on his couch pondering all of this. Finally Carter shook the thoughts from his head and stood. His body was weak and he could feel the strain on his muscles. Drugs and alcohol caused the body not to want food and without the nourishment Carter was certain he was malnourished. But this didn't prompt him to eat. The thought of food repulsed him…. At least that's what he told himself. In fact, it was his lifestyle – his drugs – that repulsed him. Again he shook the thoughts from his head. Walking to the liquor cabinet he hugged himself to keep warm.

"No matter," he said to himself, "The whiskey will warm me up soon enough." He poured the drink and went back to the couch. Carter took a large gulp and began his ritual: preparing the syringe and his arm. And that's what it had become – a ritual, as he now worshipped the drugs as one often worships a god. Unfortunately, every time Carter began his ritual, he felt a twinge of anxiety. Today was worse than normal.

Carter's hands shook as he picked up the fentanyl vial and drew the poison into the syringe. They shook to the point where he nearly dropped the sacred items, forcing Carter to put them back on the table in from of him. He felt his heartbeat racing and tried to will it to slow. Unsuccessful, Carter ran his still shaking hands through his hair.

"Stop it. Stop it! STOP IT!" he screamed to his brain. "Stop thinking about it!" He finished his drink, closed his eyes, and focused on his breathing. After a moment the anxiety passed and Carter opened his eyes. "Now onto the dirty deed." With now steady hands, Carter picked his belt up from the floor and pulled it tightly around his left arm. The pressure was mesmerizing but as Carter stared at his arm, he saw that the track marks were everywhere. "Shit." He pulled off the tourniquet and moved it onto his right arm. He hated using his left hand to administer the drug, but knew his left veins needed a rest. As before, Carter let the tourniquet sit on his arm before injecting. As the desire hit its peak, he took the syringe and pierced the skin, seeing the tell take flash of blood before pushing the drug. A flood of euphoria shot through him and his eyes slowly rolled back. This was a feeling that nothing else could produce, not even love. In his trance he removed the belt and let it fall back to the floor as his body sunk further into the couch.

Of course Carter knew this level of euphoria was because he was using so much fentanyl in combination with alcohol. He knew how dangerous it was. He knew the increased dosage is what caused his new anxiety. He knew that if he wasn't careful this would kill him. But he also knew if he didn't use he would kill himself.

But, ah, alcohol! Now he knew how Abby had fallen in love with it. Carter, opened his eyes and saw that his glass was empty. He pushed his body off the couch and stumbled to the liquor cabinet. Taking the whole bottle of whiskey back to the couch, Carter didn't even bother pouring it. He just drank straight from the bottle, letting a few drops fall loose from the corner of his mouth.

"What were they talking about?" Carter said to no one, but thinking of his co-workers. "I can live this way. I'm a doctor. I know how careful to be." His mind wandered to better times. He was in bliss.

* * *

_My mamma wants to know  
Where I'm spending all my dough  
Honey, all she does is nag, nag, nag  
But I won't apologise  
I'd inject into my eyes  
If there was nowhere else to stick my skag_

_All I want is brown  
And I'm going into town  
Shooting up as soon as I'm back  
My friends have got some good shit  
All I want is some of it  
Gimme, gimme, gimme that smack _

_Well I've ruined nearly all of my veins  
Sticking that fucking shit into my arms_

_Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh  
Givin' up, givin' up givin' a fuck_

_Lyrics from The Darkness "Givin' Up" _


	25. Chapter 25: I'm Not Fooling Myself

What?! I'm back?! Well, don't get your hopes up too high, this is just a temporary fix wink wink until I have time to write thenext chapter... but that might be a long, long wait. So, savor this! p.s. this chapter blends the song in, as every good song needs the Fray's "How to Save a Life"

* * *

**Chapter 25: I'm not fooling myself**

"Carter. Open your door. It's Abby." She stood out on his stoop, waiting. Finally she heard the locks click and the door opened enough for her to see his face. It was so pale and gaunt she had to reassure herself that, yes, it was in fact Carter. "Well," she continued, "Are you going to let us in?"

"Why'd you come here, Abby?" was his response. "Wait, 'us'?" He opened the door wider and saw Luka standing in the background. "What's he doing here? What are _you_ doing here?"_  
_

She stared at the nearly dead eyes. "We need to talk."

Without his permission she gently pushed the door open and let herself and Luka in. Abby walked into the living room and found a seat. She tried to get Luka to sit with her, but he simply stood by the doorway, as if to referee the scene. Although she had hoped Luka would support her thoughts, Abby couldn't focus on him. She needed to take care of Carter; she needed to stop this now.

The room was a dump, and smelled like an ashtray, but somehow she wasn't stunned by either of these offenses to the senses. Carter, however, didn't seem to mind, as he lit a cigarette and watched her. She watched him too. His face made a slight twitch, which Abby could only assume was an attempt at a smile. Now as he stood in front of her, she saw him in his entirety. His skin was nearly transparent and he had lost so much weight that he might as well have been a smoking skeleton.

_Step one you say we need to talk  
He walks you say sit down it's just a talk_

_He smiles politely back at you  
You stare politely right on through_

The staring must have made Carter uncomfortable. He turned and walked to a cabinet Abby could only assume was a liquor cabinet. _This is just like what Benton had told me after his talk with Carter_, Abby thought. Carter spoke and it startled Abby.

"Do you want a drink, Luka?" The glassy eyes looked up at the Croatian. Luka didn't respond, but instead just stared, as if studying Carter. Getting no response, Carter looked away and shook his head. He poured himself a drink of his own, practically to the rim. Abby assumed that once Carter has his drink, he would come to the couch to sit with her. But she was wrong. With a full whiskey glass in hand he slowly paced on the other side of the room.

"Carter, come here and sit down," she pleaded.

He said nothing. Instead he crossed the room and set his untouched drink on the windowsill. The drink was just his security blanket. Abby knew he really didn't want it. He wanted something else. He was shaking. It was subtle but she could see it. Abby wondered how long it had been since his last hit. How did she let this happen to him again? Well, she never let it happen to him the first time. She didn't know him like this then. But this time…. She had no excuse. She could have stopped this before it had gotten to this point. Abby wanted to be his friend and help him now. But she knew that he would never listen to her.

_Some sort of window to your right  
As he goes left and you stay right  
Between the lines of fear and blame  
And you begin to wonder why you came  
_

This is why Abby had brought Luka. They had some sort of bonding in Africa, one she could never fully understand. But now it seemed as if none of this mattered to Luka either. Or maybe he too was just in so much shock he couldn't believe the situation. Carter was not the man he once had been.

"Carter, please," she tried again, "come here. I want you to sit next to me."

"Talking to you about what I know you want to talk about…." Carter's voice cracked, "it isn't easy for me." He picked up his glass and took a drink, looking out the window.

"This isn't easy for me either," was all Abby could reply.

Apparently satisfied with her response, Carter lumbered to the couch and sat next to his friend. He took a drag of his cigarette and waited for her to continue.

"Carter, you have to stop this. Stop before it kills you."

"I'm fine—"

"No! You are not fine! I can see it, Luka can see it…. We all know that you are dying from this. And the only person you're fooling is yourself. Let us help. We'll do anything for you."

Carter took a long drink from his glass, nearly downing its whole contents. "I'm not fooling myself, Abby," Carter looked across, "Luka. I can see myself, just as easily as you can see me. I…. I'm just working through this. It'll get better," he finished his drink and stood up, "I promise. The best way for me to get better is for everyone to just leave me alone."

_Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend  
Somewhere along in the bitterness  
And I would have stayed up with you all night  
Had I known how to save a life_

"How do you expect us to just leave you alone?" Abby pleaded. "I understand that you see yourself too, but I don't think you are capable of seeing how far lost you are. I think the drugs have blocked that part of your brain. Because there is no getting better on your own. You can't do this by yourself anymore."

Carter poured a fresh drink, but only took a sip this time before responding, "I'm a doctor, just like you. In fact, I've been a doctor much longer than you, Abby—"

"But I've been an addict much longer than you, John." She forced her voice to stay calm. "You know what detox is like. You know that detox alone can kill you. You are already this bad and you haven't even started the worst part of this cleaning process." Abby paused and collected her thoughts. "John, are you even going to attempt to get clean? I mean, you talk about how you can handle this yourself, but do you actually plan on getting straightened out?"

Carter didn't respond. He had been looking at her as she spoke, but something caused him to turn away and study his drink. Abby caught onto this right away. It scared the life out of her. As the realization hit, as she tried to think straight, she looked up at Luka with desperate eyes. Luka, himself, was studying Carter's every move. Sensing her eyes on him, Luka looked at her for an instant before drifting his attention back to Carter.

Finally, with a cracking voice, Abby continued, "You're…. you're not planning on getting clean, are you? You're going to keep using?" Carter's eyes flickered up to her and then back down to his drink. "Carter. Please answer me."

_Let him know that you know best  
Cause after all you do know best  
Try to slip past his defense  
Without granting innocence  
Lay down a list of what is wrong  
The things you've told him all along  
And pray to God he hears you  
And pray to God he hears you_

Finally, after another long swig, he spoke. "It'll be okay, Abby. I mean, I know what I'm doing. I've done this before. I'm satisfied right now. And I feel more liberated now that I have in a long time…. Maybe more than ever. I know what to except should I decide to…. Kick it."

"No, no, no." Abby stood up and walked up to Carter, making Luka stand up at attention. "This is worse than before, Carter. You were still able to function somewhat before. But now, now you're barely able to hold a conversation without some sort of substance in your hand. This is nothing like before. And this time you have rejected treatment. They are the reason you got through it last time, not you. It was the treatment center, and the ER doctors… Mark, Benton, Kerry—"

"And you. Don't forget to give yourself the credit you oh-so-much deserve."

"Don't, John." Abby's head was spinning. "I am not trying to make this about me. You need to realize that you can't do this alone. You will die. Plain and simple."

Carter set his drink down on the table and leaned against the wall in a defensive posture. He was done talking. He'd heard this all before, and he was sick of it. "Maybe you guys should leave."

"Carter," Abby continued, "Please. Let us help. We can get you into treatment. Once you get all that junk out of your system you will be able to think much clearer. You will see—"

"No!" Carter shouted as he took a step towards Abby. She stepped back in shock. This wasn't his first outburst at her, and she didn't want to get in his way again. "I don't need your help, Abby! And I sure as hell don't need yours, Luka!" He took another step forward, forcing Abby back again.

_  
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend  
Somewhere along in the bitterness  
And I would have stayed up with you all night  
Had I known how to save a life_

Things were getting out of control. Carter was getting out of control. And Luka recognized that anything could happen at this point. As Carter carried on shouting, Luka stepped forward and moved Abby back slightly. Carter's attention shifted to his one time friend.

Trying his best to calm Carter, Luka said, "Carter, we aren't trying to upset you. We just want you to get healthy. Scaring me and Abby isn't going to help anything." He put his hand on Carter's shoulder and continued, "How about you come with us and we get you checked out. Nothing else."

"I'm not going anywhere," Carter said as he pushed the hand off his shoulder. "I'm fine here. I'll survive here." Unconsciously Carter's eyes darted to a bookcase on the other side of the room. Abby caught sight of this and started over that way.

Meanwhile, as Carter watched Abby, Luka continued, "We just need to know that you are going to be okay for the night. No tricks, Carter. Just stay the night at County, or whatever hospital you want. Stay the night, get a meal in your system…"

But Carter wasn't listening. He broke away from Luka and started toward Abby. She reached up and grabbed a leather case, which she knew held the drugs. Abby was uncertain why she needed to look. She knew what was in there. She knew she would be heartbroken yet again. Just as Abby had opened the case, Carter snatched it away from her. But it was too late, the contents spilled out. Carter shouted at her, "Mind your own damn business!" and shoved her away.

Luka again placed himself between Carter and Abby, this time with his hands out in a "stop" gesture. Luka spoke, "Carter, come on. Calm down. Let's get outta here. How about a cup of coffee somewhere?"

"No!" Carter shouted in response. He turned from them and paced in a circle with his hands on his head. "I've had enough of you guys and your constant interventions! I am not as sick as you think. I am happy like this! I can live like this—"

It was Abby's turn to respond, "You're going to die like this. At least tell me that you know you can't survive this. I want to know how aware you are. Do you even realize that you have a problem?!"

"A lot has changed. I'm not the person you used to know, Abby," came the soft response.

"I just…. How can you not see this? How can you not be terrified?" Abby's voice was breaking in fear. "Do you want to die? Are you trying to kill yourself?"

_As he begins to raise his voice  
You lower yours and grant him one last choice  
Drive until you lose the road  
Or break with the ones you've followed  
He will do one of two things  
He will admit to everything  
Or he'll say he's just not the same  
And you'll begin to wonder why you came_

Carter kept his back to them. What they didn't see were the tears coming down. Without a word and without facing them, Carter walked away, to another room. They heard a door close and a lock click. There was nothing more they could do that night. Abby picked up a half used vial that had fallen. Fentanyl. Of course.

"Maybe we should go," Luka said. Abby could only nod. As Luka led her out of the house, Abby set the vial on the coffee table. Luka asked, "You're leaving that for him?"

"It's not like he can't get more."

_Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend  
Somewhere along in the bitterness  
And I would have stayed up with you all night  
Had I known how to save a life_


End file.
